


Inside the Pendragon Institute

by ForzaDelDestino



Series: The Pendragon Institute [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU; Quotes from original television series, Arthur is a bit of a prat, Humor, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:55:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 68,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4863950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForzaDelDestino/pseuds/ForzaDelDestino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is Assistant Director at the Pendragon Institute, a museum of Medieval and Renaissance art. Morgana is the senior curator. Lance is the armor specialist, Gwen works with tapestries and textiles. Gaius is the head of the Conservation laboratory. Merlin is a new employee with a reputation for quirky brilliance. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

Arthur Pendragon, Assistant Director of the Pendragon Institute, swung through the door of his office and strode down the hall towards the staff lounge. As he walked he took note of a label that was not quite straight, on the wall by the fifteenth-century tapestry it described, and made a mental note to say something to one of the technicians.

Before reaching the door marked "Staff Only" he passed several museum visitors and was conscious of the glances they cast in his direction. He was used to it. Casually but stylishly dressed from his Brooks Brothers shirt to his Italian loafers, his blond hair simply but impeccably cut, his undeniably handsome face lightly tanned, Arthur drew the eye. Even on weekends, clad in baggy sweat pants and a t-shirt, he often found himself on the receiving end of avid female stares-and a wealth of male stares as well.

Most of the senior staff were already assembled in the lounge, yawning as they poured out cups of morning tea or jammed crumpets and slices of bread into the toaster oven. Lance, the armor and weapons specialist, was holding forth on the subject of helmets to anyone who would listen, and Arthur's stepsister Morgana, senior curator, was sitting on the sofa glaring at her buttered toast. Gwen from Textile and Tapestry Conservation was rummaging in the mini-fridge with the air of someone who knew that what she was looking for wasn't there.

"Arthur," she said in greeting as he walked through the door. "Welcome back-how was London?"

"Damp," he replied, gratefully accepting the cup of tea she handed to him. "Did I miss anything? I was only away two weeks."

The Pendragon Institute, a museum devoted to medieval and Renaissance art, had been founded in New York City by Uther Pendragon, Senior (deceased), only a few blocks away from the monumental structure that was the Metropolitan Museum. The billionaire British expatriate, a devotee of medieval manuscript illumination, had staffed the Institute with European scholars and (in the jolly spirit of nepotism) family members, a tradition that continued into the twenty-first century. Uther Junior, Arthur's father, was the current Director, shuttling back and forth between New York and London. His stepdaughter Morgana LeFay, an Oxford-educated art historian, was senior curator. And although at least fifty percent of the Institute's employees were now American, most senior staff members-including Gwen and Lance-belonged to what Morgana liked to call The Motley Crew of Expat Brits.

"You didn't miss much," Gwen said cheerfully, handing over a plate of toast. "Just your dad's senior staff meeting. We're considering bidding on a thirteenth-century sculpture at auction in September. Oh, and the new conservator's arrived. You know, the one Uther interviewed last month. He introduced him at the meeting."

"Yeah," Lance murmured from the other end of the sofa. "A real prize, this one is. Read medieval art history at Cambridge. Conservation degrees from the Courtauld Institute. He's the only person I've met who's qualified to work in both Objects Conservation and Paper Conservation-one of my mates at the Victoria and Albert says everyone knows he's got magic in his fingers."

"That's why we courted him, Lance," Morgana said patiently. "The Metropolitan Museum wanted him too."

"We offered more money," she added smugly, tossing the remnants of her toast into the rubbish can.

"I'd forgotten he was coming," muttered Arthur, rubbing his eyes and silently cursing his jet lag. "I didn't have anything to do with that job appointment. Too busy with fund raising."

"Will's known him for years," Gwen called from the depths of the supply closet, where she had unearthed a tin of biscuits. "I think they were childhood friends."

"Great," said Arthur, yawning hugely. "I'll go downstairs and meet him later. Why isn't he here, anyway?"

"He's a bit shy," Morgana murmered. "Or maybe it's your reputation that's frightened him off."

Arthur looked highly affronted but everyone else smirked. The Assistant Director was notorious for his amorous exploits, most of which involved other members of the international museum community. Even in New York, where Arthur spent at least half of his time, there were scholars, curators, conservation experts, and installation technicians-most of them women but a number of them men-who turned bright red at the memories evoked whenever his name was mentioned.

He was also well known for his good-natured but very thorough bullying of junior staff, something Morgana had taken him to task over any number of times. However it was not to this tendency that Morgana had been referring.

"Oh come off it, Morgs," he said under his breath to his stepsister. "You know I never lay a hand on anyone at the Institute. It's bad policy-why ask for trouble?"

"Well you'll certainly keep your paws off this one if you know what's good for you," she replied snappishly. "He's adorable, but we practically had to fight a war to get him, and if anything goes wrong here he can always go skipping off to the Met, or the Pierpont Morgan, or back to London-I hear the National Gallery made him an offer. Gaius thinks the world of him, by the way," she concluded, nodding at the elderly, silver-haired Head of the Conservation Department who had just made his appearance, a mug of jet-black, noxious looking coffee in hand.

"I don't know why everyone thinks I'm so oversexed," Arthur complained in a whisper as he stood up to leave. "I'll introduce myself to this boy wonder-Emrys, isn't it?-before lunch. And before I forget, aren't we due for a check of the alarm system?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Less than two hours later, Arthur left his office once more, this time heading for the stairs to the basement, where two Conservation workrooms-one for Objects Conservation, the other for Paper Conservation-were located. (Textile Conservation was on the top floor.) Gaius, who was Head of the Conservation Department, oversaw the work in all three areas, but he himself was a paper conservator and spent much of his time in the adjoining makeshift "lab," stirring up nasty-smelling pots of animal glue, synthetic adhesives, or other concoctions no one wanted to go near.

As he headed down the steps, Arthur tried to remember what he had been told about the new conservation specialist.

"He's a dear," Gwen had said earlier in the staff lounge. "And don't you go frightening him, he's just a kid."

She had nudged him in the ribs with her elbow as she spoke, and they both laughed. They had been to school together, had enjoyed a brief, passionate fling at university, and then, amazingly enough, had settled into a comfortable platonic friendship. To Arthur she was like the sister he had always wanted but never had. Wait...ooops! He had Morgana, didn't he? But she was a stepsister, and their relationship, while genuinely affectionate, was complicated by their intense rivalry and Morgana's notoriously high-handed temper.

The Paper Conservation workroom was all white and as spotless as a laboratory. Lights could be carefully regulated, and were UV filtered to prevent damage to the art. Gaius wasn't in; and the sole occupant was perched on a stool at one of the long worktables, bent over what appeared to be a single page of manuscript. He didn't raise his head as Arthur came in, so the Assistant Director walked silently over to the table and took a close look at him.

The new conservator was very young. He looked younger than his age, which Arthur vaguely remembered to be twenty-four. A university baby-genius, then, because nobody ever landed a job like this until they were approaching thirty at the least. He was slender to the point of thinness, with black hair cut in a style reminiscent of the early Beatles or a Vulcan from Star Trek, a pale ivory complexion, and well-shaped, long-fingered hands that were just then fiddling with a fine-tipped rabbit's fur brush. A pair of horn rimmed glasses was perched on his nose, and his mouth-full lipped and pink, Arthur noticed-was set in a scowl.

Arthur came a little closer and his shadow fell over the object of the conservator's scrutiny.

"You're in my light," the young conservator said abruptly without taking his eyes off his work.

Arthur cleared his throat.

The young man glanced up and his scowl vanished.

"Sorry," he said in an apologetic tone. "I thought you were Will...he's calling for me at noon. May I help you?"

He removed the horn rimmed spectacles and his eyes, a very clear and limpid blue, met Arthur's. For a split second the Assistant Director found himself at a loss for words, before he cleared his throat a second time and gave what he referred to as his official welcoming smile.

"Arthur Pendragon, Assistant Director," he said cordially. "It's good to meet you; I missed the formal introductions at the last staff meeting, I'm afraid. I was in London."

The young man nodded politely but did not smile. "Merlin Emrys," he said coolly. Arthur noted the pleasing tenor register of the conservator's voice, the touch of Northern Irish accent, and the nervousness with which he was now gripping the brush in his left hand.

"I hope you've found the place to your liking," he murmured, gesturing around the room. Merlin Emrys nodded again but said nothing, and Arthur began to wonder whether he was indeed shy or simply ill-mannered.

"Well, let me know if there's anything you need," he said finally. "I know the storage rooms are a bit of a labyrinth. When I first came here, a friend took great pleasure in misdirecting me and I got lost on the way to the ceramics room."

A corner of the conservator's mouth twitched, as though he had been about to smile and then thought better of it. "I'd never have a friend who'd be such an ass."

Arthur snorted because the "friend" in question had been Morgana, but he did not enlighten the new member of staff.

"I suppose they've all told you I'm an ogre," he said stiffly, gesturing in the general direction of upstairs. "But I'm not, really, and if you have a problem of any sort you can come to me about it."

It was then that he realized that the young man's eyes were dancing with mischief.

"I've heard it said that you're a rough, tough, save-the-world kind of man," Merlin Emrys replied, and this time Arthur could see that he was stifling a grin. "But your staff seem to like you."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Dr LeFay said I could tell you that contrary to appearances, you're actually quite good at what you do."

Arthur was torn between the desire to strangle Morgana or aim a (gentle) blow at one of the young conservator's prominent ears. As he could do neither, he decided that it was time to assert his authority over this impudent pup.

"When you've finished with that thing-" he said sharply, gesturing at the page on the worktable, "there's something I'd like you to look at. We've an early sixteenth-century frontispiece from a Bruges manuscript, colors and gilding on prepared vellum. Some of the pigment's flaking badly and needs to be stabilized."

The conservator met the Assistant Director's sky-blue eyes with a level stare, as if acknowledging a challenge. "That shouldn't be a problem, Mr Pendragon."

This time it was the corner of Arthur's mouth that twitched. "We're pretty much on a first-name basis around here," he said, matching the chilliness of his voice to the conservator's. "So Arthur will do. I'll be seeing you around then, _Mer_ lin." He put a drawling emphasis on the first syllable of the name and almost laughed to hear the arrogance in his own voice.

Merlin stood up and, to Arthur's surprise, he smiled as he extended his hand. The smile lit up his narrow, boyish face, calling attention to elegantly sculpted high cheekbones. Arthur took the proffered hand and shook it. The young man's grip was firm, his hand warm and dry, and Arthur was shocked at the sudden spark of sexual interest he experienced at the touch.

As he made his exit he nearly bumped into Will from Objects Conservation, who was just coming in.

Will passed the Assistant Director with a politely neutral half-smile, but when Arthur vanished through the door, he turned and stuck out his tongue like a disapproving four-year-old.

"What was _he_ doing here?"

"Erm, wanted to talk about some project or another he needs done. And introduced himself; I hadn't met him before."

"So they've got you skivvying for the prince, then."

"Prince?"

"Arthur bloody Pendragon. Uther's little boy."

"Oh...right. It didn't register...I've been slaving over this text-on-parchment all morning...not too alert to anything else," Merlin mumbled, tapping the side of his head with a fist. "I could use a cup of tea, or better yet, an espresso."

Will was still staring at the space Arthur had occupied a moment earlier.

"Bloody predator," he muttered.

"Um?"

"Oh, he's famous for it," Will said scathingly under his breath.

Merlin gave him a look of utter confusion.

"Well, it's almost lunch hour, isn't it?" Will said in a more cheerful voice, pointing at the door. "Come on then, we can go to the local Starbucks and I'll fill you in about his highness on the way."


	2. What Do You Think of Camelot?

"Two iced grande lattes," Will told the pink-haired girl behind the Starbucks counter, flashing a flirtatious smile in her direction. "And a turkey and swiss wrap for me. Merlin?"

The young conservator eyed the row of sandwiches in front of him with a dubious eye. "Erm...the grilled vegetable, uh, wrap, please."

"Hey, Will!" A pretty barista prepared and handed over the coffees with an appreciative glance at the two young men. The rounder-faced, brown-haired fellow had been a regular for nearly a year, but his companion, thin and black-haired-very attractive-was new to her.

The customers took their purchases to a table by the window and sat down.

"So," Will murmured, "What do you think of 'Camelot' so far?"

"Do they call it that here, too?" Merlin asked, grinning. "They do in London."

Will smiled back, shrugging his shoulders a little. He had been at the Pendragon Institute for a year and had a good working relationship with most of the staff there. Like many of the younger staff members, he was nervous around the imperious director, Uther Pendragon, Jr., but he was almost as uncomfortable around Uther Jr.'s son Arthur.

"If Uther ever retires," he said drily, "I s'pose the golden boy will go from being Prince Arthur to King. He's very popular with the public-you know, the looks and all-but I don't know that he'll be all that much better than daddy."

Merlin raised one eyebrow.

"As for why I called him a predator," Will said in a low voice, "Almost everyone knows that about him...I mean, his reputation for being able to seduce every attractive person-female or male-in the business. Of course it's exaggerated, I know that, but still...anyway, _you're_ probably safe, he doesn't try that sort of thing in-house. Now what's so funny?"

Merlin was laughing.

"Gwen says he's not so bad," he offered quietly, after stifling his laughter and glancing around the coffee shop to make certain no one else from the Institute had decided to stop in for lunch. "Dr. LeFay-Morgana-said the same."

Will rolled his eyes.

"What would you expect them to say?" he asked, adding a huge dollop of sugar to his coffee. "That lot stick together. You know-Morgana's his stepsister, and he and Gwen were at university together."

"No, I didn't know," Merlin replied, cautiously investigating the contents of his sandwich. "He may be a bit of a prat, but apart from that I'll reserve judgement. I'm not going to take an automatic dislike to him just because _you_ think I should."

"Who says I think you should?"

"It's obvious," Merlin said, shrugging in his turn before changing the subject. "Now, what about that twelfth-century limestone archangel you're working on? Need any assistance, oh all-knowing Master of the Glue Pot?"

"Glue!" shouted Will in a scandalized voice. "As if I'd ever...and NO, I don't need any assistance. You're just showing off, you bloody tosser."

"It takes one to know one," Merlin said philosophically, diving into his sandwich.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So!" said Arthur, moments after sliding into his favorite booth of the Cafe Graziella, a few blocks from the Institute. "How are things working out with the boy wonder?"

"Oh for pity's sake, Arthur," Gwen sighed from the other side of the table, absently twisting her brown curls around her fingers. "He's only been here a week. And don't be so supercilious. He's very sweet. And everyone says he has-"

"I know, I know, magic in his fingers. Well, I've given him a chance to prove himself. That catastrophic Bruges manuscript with the flaking colors-we'll see what he can do with that."

"See what he can do with what?" Morgana asked as she flung herself into the booth, next to Gwen. "What are you two on about?"

"Who invited you?" Arthur muttered, glowering at his beautiful. raven-haired stepsister-stylish in a green frock of clinging jersey-as she began to leaf through the leather-bound menu. "As a matter of fact, we were just talking about how you spend entirely too much of your salary on your wardrobe."

"We were not!" Gwen said indignantly as Morgana's lips tightened into a thin line of dark scarlet. "We were talking about the new conservator, and Arthur's being a pill as usual."

Morgana's eyes rolled towards the ceiling. "I'll bet he's given him the Bruges manuscript as a test."

"How did you know!" Arthur exploded, and both women gestured at him to lower his voice. "Anyway, why shouldn't he be tested? I know nothing about him, although I assume he's well qualified. It was all Father's idea to hire him. And I'm not being a pill."

Gwen and Morgana exchanged looks.

"Isn't he adorable?" Morgana asked innocently.

"I went downstairs to meet him half an hour ago. He's-well, not odd, exactly, but there's something about him...I can't quite put my finger on it."

"He's not a bit odd," Gwen said peaceably. "Just a bit reserved."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter (a handsome redhead at whom Morgana unconsciously made eyes) and the ordering of their respective meals. When conversation resumed, the topic changed to that of Lance and Gwen's ongoing romance ("Ongoing? What about unending!" snorted Arthur), and whether or not they were ever going to get engaged. Before Gwen could offer any concrete response, their lunches arrived. Any discussion of the new conservator and his debatable oddness was put on an indefinite hold.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three weeks later, Merlin Emrys presented the Assistant Director with the problematic Bruges manuscript page, an event that occasioned their first argument. By some sort of tacit mutual agreement, the two had been avoiding each other's company since their first meeting in the the Paper Conservation studio.

Arthur studied the parchment for a long time in silence, chewing on his lower lip, until the young conservator felt obligated to say something.

"Flaking or unstable media on parchment takes time to consolidate...and you don't want to change the appearance of the image by proceeding too quickly."

"It looks...it looks...wonderful," Arthur said, squinting at the page before meeting the young man's cool blue stare. "The pigment's been consolidated, that is, stabilized, beautifully. But it looks...why does it look so good? You've done some overpainting!"

"Never!" snapped Merlin, running one hand through his hair until it stood up on the top of his head in little peaks. "No conscientious conservator would do such a thing."

"It was terribly wrinkled. Now it's flat. What the hell do you have in your studio-a magic wand?"

"It was in need of rehydration."

"But...it looks brighter."

"I cleaned the surface. Without, I might add, removing any of the original colors or gold. Just the surface dirt. NO retouching. NO overpainting. NONE."

"There's no need to shout!" replied Arthur, shouting.

"I wasn't shouting, you are."

"Boys, boys!" Gwen put her head through the door, having just descended from the Tapestry Conservation room. "People can hear you in the hallway. Oh, Merlin! What a beautiful job you've done with the manuscript!"

"Not as beautiful as the job you did with the Dancing Ladies Tapestry," Merlin remarked with a smile, looking decidedly less agitated.

"Much as I hate to break up this mutual admiration society," Arthur said in an acid tone of voice, "When you've finished congratulating each other, could I trouble you to remember that we have a staff meeting in fifteen minutes?"

Gwen looked from Arthur, immaculate in his pale blue shirt and pressed trousers, to Merlin, whose now rumpled hair, jeans, and striped rugby shirt made him look like a teenager face to face with his least favorite maths teacher.

"We'll be there, I just need to grab a cup of tea," Gwen said soothingly as she seized Merlin's arm and literally pulled him out of the room.

"Pity we don't have anything stronger," muttered the Assistant Director, feeling the beginnings of a headache pounding at his temples. "With that...that idiot on staff, I think I'm going to need it."


	3. Staff Meeting

The staff meeting was not going well.

Everyone looked sleepy. Lance was yawning. Merlin had put on his horn rimmed glasses and was surreptitiously reading a newspaper. Morgana was fidgeting, and a spider of massive proportions had been discovered in the staff bathroom moments before by Gwen, who let out a hearty shriek at the sight. As no one from the cleaning staff seemed to be anywhere about, Arthur was forced to break off his opening remarks in order to capture the thing and then release it through a window onto the balcony.

Why no one else volunteered to do this was beyond him.

"It's your turn to do some dirty work," Morgana muttered snidely. After a moment of hesitation, Merlin got up and opened the window for him.

The good announcements came first. Visitor attendance was up this month. The new exhibition, "St. George and the Dragon in Painting and Sculpture," had gone over well with the public, and people seemed to be pouring in, particularly on weekends. Reproductions of some of the show's works of art were selling nicely in the gift shop. "St. George" had gotten positive reviews from the art critics at several newspapers and magazines, and one television network was talking about doing a three-minute clip on the Pendragon Institute during the evening news.

"They'll want shots of y _ou_ , Morgana, in that get-up!" Gwen said in a stage whisper, whilst everyone else tried not to stare at the snowy cleavage revealed by the senior curator's very low-cut shirt.

For the next several minutes the Assistant Director read off lists of attendance figures, until he saw eyelids beginning to droop.

"For those of you who hadn't heard," Arthur said, scanning the room and its occupants to see how many were still awake, " _Mer_ lin has successfully completed his treatment of that Bruges frontispiece. You're all welcome to have a look at it, of course, before it's framed. It...he did an...an excellent job. The colors have been stabilized and it's ready for display." It frustrated him to have to praise the socially-challenged Merlin Emrys, but there was no denying that his work was top shelf.

"You can talk to Morgana and the technicians, _Mer_ lin, about which room we should display it in. There's an empty wall case in Gallery Four."

He glanced across the room to where Merlin was sitting between Will and Gwen. The young conservator returned his look, an annoyingly ambiguous expression on his face. As he turned back to speak to Gwen, Arthur saw him catch his full lower lip between even, white teeth and he flinched mentally, although his own expression did not change. What was it about this irritating employee that made his face and, uh, the rest of him, linger in the mind?

On to the bad news. Before he could even go there, Arthur noted that Morgana, who had a cold, was in a ferocious mood, and that Gaius was frowning at his notes (never a good sign), scratching his silvery head with one hand and gripping his ever-present mug of toxic black coffee with the other. Geoffrey Monmouth, the librarian, was blinking owlishly, and Lance and Gwen were making goo-goo eyes at each other, as usual. Leon, the head of Security, was listening alertly, but Arthur could see that he was looking at Morgana out of the corner of his eye.

The bad news was bad. There were plumbing problems in the Men's toilets. The alarm system's motion detectors were working everywhere but the gift shop, where they were definitely defective. (The alarm had gone off twice in the middle of the night, for no reason, terrifying the night guards and summoning a patrol car full of sleepy policemen.) Gaius' computer needed replacing. Someone (Arthur suspected Merlin) had tripped over a flower pot in the entrance hall, spilling dirt onto the floor and neglecting to tidy it up. Worst of all, one of the curators from the Medieval Art Department at the Metropolitan Museum had asked if she could pay them a call next week.

There was a collective groan, and Merlin looked to Will for an explanation. But Will had gotten up to replenish his cup of tea, so it was Gwen who had to enlighten him.

"It's Morgause," she sighed, looking displeased. "She's one of the medievalists over at the Metropolitan. Tough as nails. Downright scary. Arthur and Lance call her the Evil Witch. She and Morgana sort of get along, but we're all pretty wary of her, in general."

"And she wants to meet with us? What's that about?"

"Oh, she's a good networker, she always stays in touch with people in the field. But I suspect she wants to borrow something of ours for an upcoming show."

"Talking about the Evil Witch, are you?" Will said as he rejoined them with his newly refilled cup. "Fuck, the stories people tell about her..."

Arthur wound up the meeting by thanking everyone for his or her hard work, and reminding them to keep the spending down wherever possible. The Institute's treasurer, a fiery tempered accountant-turned-lawyer who had long ago been labeled "The Great Dragon," was constantly lecturing Uther and his son about the irresponsible use of funds. Thankfully, he lived in Washington D.C. and rarely drove up the east coast to meet with the staff. Every year he issued another dire prediction about the financial future of the museum, to the point where everybody tended to ignore what he had to say.

As the staff wandered off towards their respective offices, Arthur caught sight of Gaius ambling down the hallway with Merlin in tow. He promptly turned and headed in another direction, but Gaius had seen him.

"Hoy, Arthur! Could I have a word?"

Trying his best not to appear reluctant, Arthur strolled over to Gaius and gave him a questioning smile. After all, he had known the man almost all his life, and tended to regard him as something of a surrogate uncle.

"I have a feeling I know what the Evil-what Morgause wants to talk to us about," Gaius said in such a low voice that Arthur had to lean close to hear him. "I think she wants to borrow our Arthurian Legends manuscript to display at the Metropolitan. She's always been fascinated by that piece."

Arthur frowned. "It needs conservation work before it can go anywhere."

"I know," Gaius nodded. "And whilst we're on the subject of what needs work...the birchwood Mary Magdalene sculpture from Gallery 1 needs attending to. It'll fall apart if you even look at it cross-eyed, Will says."

"In other words-?"

"I'd like to pull Merlin off whatever he's doing now in Paper Conservation and send him over to Objects Conservation to work on it, if that's alright with you."

They had been walking towards Gaius' office, and had reached the door. Gaius unlocked and opened it, ushering both Merlin and Arthur inside. During their stroll down the hall, Arthur had been amused to notice that Merlin (who had removed his glasses) nearly bumped into the wall twice, and seemed on the verge of stumbling over his own feet, his eyes wearing a dreamy, absent-minded look that differed completely from the focused, steely-eyed expression he exhibited while working. It was almost as if there were two Merlins: the cool, steady-handed, meticulous conservator, and the clumsy, spindly, daydreaming young man walking alongside him now, a stray lock of black hair hanging over his pale forehead, pale fingers twisting the hem of that ridiculous striped shirt.

This impression was confirmed when Arthur caught a glimpse of Merlin's tiny office, which adjoined Gaius'. Seen through the half-open door, it was in a total disarray, with piles of books and papers everywhere, and two half-empty mugs of cold tea perched on the desk. It offered a stark contrast with the neat, clean, orderly and virtually antiseptic workspace that Merlin carefully maintained in the Conservation studio.

" _Mer_ lin, for pity's sake," he murmured, hovering between disapproval and the desire to laugh. "How on earth do you find anything in this...this...?"

Gaius mumbled something that sounded like an agreement, but Merlin simply gave a wide, boyish grin, blue eyes alight, and Arthur felt as though his stomach had turned a somersault.

Damn, but those lips looked delicious.

"It isn't funny, _Mer_ lin, you _idiot_ ," he said more harshly than he had intended, and then nearly clapped his hand over his mouth because he hadn't meant that last word to be uttered aloud. Bullying his staff was one thing, but insulting brand new employees in front of their colleagues was another. Visions of lawsuits suddenly danced in his brain.

To his immense relief Merlin didn't seem a bit fazed or insulted by the unexpected outburst. Instead, the young conservator paused on the verge of entering his office and favored Arthur with an open and genuinely sweet smile.

"Prat," he said gently, as he stooped to pick up a small pile of books blocking his way, and disappeared through the door, leaving a very confused Assistant Director rooted to the spot.


	4. What Gaius Had to Say

"Merlin," said Gaius to the newest addition to his departmental staff. "you really should watch the way you speak to Arthur. It's not very respectful."

Relieved to have the monthly staff meeting over and done with, Gaius had abandoned his lukewarm coffee, made a pot of tea, and insisted that Merlin tidy up his office. The junior conservator had done this in a rather haphazard fashion whilst Gaius regaled him with stories of "the old days," when a much younger Uther spent as much time in New York as he did in London, and Arthur and Morgana-"two of the prettiest children you ever saw"-played amongst the antiquities in the storage rooms when Uther wasn't looking.

"I think he secretly likes it that I'm the only person here who talks back to him, that is, except for Morgana," Merlin replied, gulping down his scalding tea. "You should hear the way he talks to _me_."

"He may come across as arrogant at times, but we all cut him a little slack." Gaius responded. "He's under a lot of pressure. But he's more than capable. He'll be an excellent Director when Uther eventually hands over the reins. I've known him since his infancy, you see."

"Since his infancy." Merlin had to stifle a guffaw at the thought of a baby Arthur with nappies and a teddy bear.

"Of course I've known your mother even longer," Gais went on. "and it came as quite a surprise to me when she emailed me that her son was coming to New York to work at the Institute. Uther had been very closed-mouthed about it. She asked me if I would keep my eye on you, and I promised her I would. So you'd be doing us both a favor if you try to fit in here and not turn the place on its head."

"I behave myself and keep my head down," Merlin protested, but Gaius was not deceived by the innocent look on the young man's face.

"Merlin," he said severely, waving his teaspoon to emphasize his point. "you're amazingly gifted. I've not seen anything like it before. You're a mere fledgeling but you have the best eye and the best hands of anyone in the business. However-don't think I haven't heard about those pranks you pulled at Cambridge and the Courtauld. There are professors there who quake in their shoes when they hear your name."

"Um." said Merlin, whose cheeks and ears had begun to turn pink. "It's not my fault if I was better at what they did than they were."

"All the same..." Gaius mumbled, "To get back to the original subject...just do the best work you can, and, if you can manage it, be helpful to Arthur. He could use a friend in this cutthroat, competitive field that we're in."

"A _friend_...Gaius! He's my boss, and he doesn't want me as a friend."

"I shouldn't be saying this, but," Gaius went on somberly, "perhaps you should be aware of certain things. He doesn't trust people easily, and I can't say that I blame him. You know he was raised without a mother. Uther was...well, let's just say that Uther was a remote father. People have always tried to take advantage of Arthur because of the family's wealth and connections. Others pursue him for his looks. There have been a number of women who've, hem," Gaius coughed self-consciously, "chased him, not because they wanted to get to know him, but because they wanted a bit of rich, gorgeous arm candy. So he may have many admirers, he may have had many lovers, and he always has many hangers-on, but he has few real friends. And now that's quite enough revelation for one day. Let's get back to work."

Merlin had been listening with his chin on his hand, his expression unreadable. Now he stood up, nearly knocking over his empty mug, and gathered his notes from the meeting.

"As long as he likes my work," he said cheerfully, "I don't care that he doesn't like me."

Gaius had begun to feel quite fatherly and protective towards this oddly endearing lad now working under his tutelage, and the last thing he wanted was for bad feelings to develop between him and the Assistant Director.

"As soon as Arthur gives the go-ahead on the Mary Magdalene," he sighed, "you can examine her in the Objects Conservation studio. There's plenty of room in there, and Will certainly won't mind. And for God's sake, don't assume that Arthur doesn't like you. Although you certainly seem," he snorted, "to have gotten under his skin."

As though on cue, there was an authoritative rap on the door, and Gaius opened it to find Arthur standing there, a curious smirk on his face. He had donned a well-cut, dark grey blazer (Gaius hated to guess at the price of such a garment) and looked quite stunningly handsome.

"I have a spare half-hour," he murmured, addressing Gaius but glancing past him at his companion. "before I meet with the people from the alarm company. I thought I might look at the Magdalene statue in Gallery One with Merlin, and he can tell me how much work he feels it will need."

Merlin gave a barely audible sigh as he put down his papers for a second time but when he spoke, both his voice and manner were on the edge of deferential.

"Okay." he said. "Let's go."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arthur watched with a kind of fascination as Merlin took notes. He had put his glasses back on and was standing less than a foot away from the Mary Magdalene sculpture, talking under his breath as he jotted things down.

"Body shows considerable insect damage. Areas of surface wood loss in the right shoulder, right arm, and hair. Flaking surface found in conjunction with insect damage. These surfaces are in danger of falling off. Base of the figure is also damaged and therefore unstable."

"Well?" Arthur asked after a moment of silence. He stepped closer to peer at the marred surface of the wood, and closed his eyes involuntarily when he felt Merlin's warm breath on the side of his face as he turned to respond.

"We...I...can stabilize it temporarily, in a matter of one to three days. More extensive work would, erm, require more time."

Arthur glanced at his electronic pocket calendar. "I'll ask the technicians to take her downstairs next Monday, when the museum's closed."

"That would be great." Neither of them looked the other directly in the face and neither mentioned their verbal exchange of less than an hour ago. Merlin removed his glasses and fiddled with them absently.

A pair of students, a muscular boy in a football jersey and a bosomy young girl, strolled through the gallery, paying little or no attention to the art. Every few steps, they stopped to kiss frantically.

The Assistant Director and conservator rolled their eyes.

"When I was their age," Merlin muttered, "I would have been terrified to snog in a museum."

"Are you joking?" retorted Arthur. "When _I_ was their age, I thought museums were the best places _to_ snog-you didn't have to worry about running into schoolmates there."

Merlin chuckled and that wayward lock of hair fell over his right eyebrow, making him blink. Arthur bit his lip and restrained himself from reaching out and brushing it back into place. As it was, he could admire the contrast of the midnight blackness with the milky pallor of that angular face.

He must be that milky pale all over.

_Imagine snogging Merlin in a museum._

For a moment Arthur allowed his imagination to run riot, something he almost never did.

_That silly striped rugby shirt. I'd like to see him dressed in black, it would suit him. I'd like to see him dressed..._

_I'd like to see him undressed, actually._

_Stop it, Arthur! You're his boss. He works for you. You do not sleep with your employees! Company policy! Common sense!_

_Besides, it wouid probably scare him to death if I even tried..._

"All right, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said in as impersonal a voice as he could muster. "I'll speak to the technicians about moving her-" he gestured to the sculpture, "on Monday."

"Cool," replied Merlin, ducking his head in gratitude. There didn't seem to be anything else to say about the matter, so they turned and left the gallery, eyes focused straight ahead, or on the sculptures, or on the art hanging on the walls-anywhere but on each other.


	5. The "Evil Witch"

A week later, as promised, the medievalist from the Metropolitan Museum strode into Arthur's office for their two o'clock appointment.

Morgause Lothian (another member of the Motley Crew of Expat Brits) was lean, blonde, attractive, and possessed of a pair of piercing eyes guaranteed to make anyone beneath the museum rank of curator shake and shiver in his or her boots. She wore-as usual-a silvery grey pants suit tailored to fit her like a glove, and a silver filigree necklace that resembled chain mail.

Arthur had been seated behind his desk, but he stood politely to receive her. She gave him an icy smile which he returned in full measure. Morgana, who had been standing behind her stepbrother, moved forward and offered Morgause her hand. The smile Morgause bent upon Morgana was much friendlier, and Morgana, who harbored a certain admiration for Morgause, smiled back. She then gestured graciously toward a chair, secretly thinking that their visitor's hair was a total disaster. The tumbled blonde waves looked disheveled rather than fashionable, and Morgana reflected that if ever anyone was in desperate need of a hairstyle makeover, it was Morgause.

"Well!" Morgause began, with an upward curve of the lips that was a cross between what you would expect from an earnest American Girl Scout and a hungry barracuda. "Arthur! It's a pleasure to see you. How have you been? I'm sure you know what I've come to ask you about, so I won't beat about the bush."

"Thank you, Morgause, I've been very well," Arthur replied, rather relieved to see that they could get on with the issue at hand, without having to exchange ritual pleasantries for ten minutes. "And if I'm correct, you want to ask about the Arthurian Legends manuscript."

"Brilliant deduction as always," came the response. "And as it happens, you're quite right. I've always wanted to display that piece. You haven't shown it in a while, and we're mounting an exhibition about medieval legends four months from now."

"Four months!" Morgana broke in, surprised. "That doesn't give us much time. Or you. I mean, it usually takes at least six months to a year to prepare for a show."

"I realize that," Morgause replied. "This is rather last minute, but we've only just be given approval by the Director. We won't have a catalogue, so that saves us some time. We're borrowing from about five other museums and collectors. We only have to get the loans approved, and we'll be ready to go."

Arthur mentally tallied up the amount of time it would require to have the manuscript treated by the Conservation Department, appraised for insurance value, measured and soft-packed for the four-block trek (via climate-controled van, of course) from the Institute to the Met.

"I think something can be done," he said courteously, and smiled to himself to see the spark of triumph in Morgause's eyes. "We'll let Merlin have a look at it, there's no question that it needs some work before we can release it on loan." Merlin was working on the Magdalene statue (and they had already had two arguments about the method of treatment), but no matter.

"Merlin!" murmured Morgause, a speculative look replacing the gleam of triumph. "Ah, young Mr Emrys. The boy with the magic touch. Every museum's Conservation Department wanted him. We tried to get him, but the Institute won. Congratulations. Yes, I'd like it if he could treat the piece before it comes to us."

"Before you borrow it, you mean." Arthur corrected mildly.

"Yes, of course." There was no reading Morgause's expression, and Arthur realized that he did not want to try. Instead he stood and shook her hand, watched Morgana offer to walk her to the lobby, and then heaved an enormous sigh of relief before sitting down to send an email to his father in London. Uther had no objection to the manuscript being displayed at the Metropolitan, but he didn't like or trust Morgause any more than Arthur did.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once he was certain that Morgause had left the Institute, Arthur felt a strong desire for a hefty shot of scotch. As he knew this was quite impossible-he never drank during office hours, unless it was a glass of wine at a business lunch-he decided to clear his mind and stretch his legs by going for a little in-house stroll. In fact, why not run down to the Objects Conservation studio to see how Merlin was doing with the Mary Magdalene sculpture?

There was a small, fifteenth-century gilt framed mirror on display in the hallway, and Gwen caught Arthur looking into it on his way to the (staff only) stairs to the basement workrooms.

"Yes, love, you're still gorgeous," she said with a grin. "On your way down to Conservation, are you?"

"I have to talk to Merlin about the Legends manuscript," he replied shortly, and was disconcerted when Gwen gave him a cryptic look before disappearing into Gaius' office.

He gave one final glance into the mirror before proceeding to the stairs. He knew that some of his staff considered him vain and he was in fact well aware of his very good looks, and of the impact his handsomely chiseled features and golden hair had on others, but this was the first time any of his colleagues had caught him staring into a mirror. Of course it was only Gwen, his close friend, but still...

Arthur had dismissed those troublesome sensations of the previous week with the excuse that his hormones were acting up because it had been a while since his last girlfriend. Sophia, who worked at a small women's college in upstate New York, had been sweet-voiced, fair-haired, flirtatious, if a bit possessive. Clingy. He hadn't given her much thought since their break-up, especially since it had turned out that she was using him to get introductions to people in academic circles in the city, but now he wondered whether he shouldn't give her a ring. At least to get his libido under control. Those feelings he had experienced in the galleries with Merlin...really, they had been entirely inappropriate. After all, he hardly knew the young man. Was he kidding himself...did he actually find that contradictory bag of bones beautiful?

When he peered inside the Objects Conservation studio he saw Will poring over a fourteenth-century gilt belt buckle. The contradictory bag of bones was standing in front of the Magdalene statue, lightly dusting the surface with a wide, flat brush tipped with fine sheep's hair, his black brows drawn together with concentration. Yes, damn it to bloody hell, he did look beautiful. Arthur stepped back, and then changed course so that he halted several paces behind the young conservator, and was astonished when Merlin raised his head, his back still to the door, and said without turning, "Hello Arthur."

"How did you know it was me?" blurted the Assistant Director.

"Cologne," Merlin replied, and Arthur heard Will give a faint cackle of laughter. "You wear the most expensive cologne in the building."

"Good lord," muttered Arthur, "are all of your senses that acute?"

Merlin responded with am ambiguous smile.

Arthur turned his attention to the sculpture. "How's the work going?

"Well enough," Merlin said with a half-smile. "Another day should do it to stabilize her, at least. Then another day for the material to dry. She can be moved back into the gallery after that. But I'd much rather take another week to reinforce-"

"You'll have to put that off," Arthur said abruptly. "The additional week, at any rate. I have another project for you."

" _What!_ I thought you wanted me to finish this one. These are delicate objects, you can't-"

"We're loaning a manuscript to the Met. I want you to go over it and give me your opinion-"

"-you can't keep pulling me back and forth between Paper Conservation and Objects Conservation, leaving everything unfinished-someone else can see to the manuscript...you're..."

"It's my decision, _Mer_ lin, and that's final."

"...a bloody dictator, in fact."

"There's a reason, for God's sake!"

"You're shouting again!" Merlin responded, the volume of his voice rising considerably.

"I'm shouting! _I'm_ shouting? You-"

"How can I concentrate on anything when-"

"Oh shut up, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said, suddenly calm. "Look, I respect your working methods. I know you're supposed to be the best of the best. I didn't mean to upset you. But this is important, and it's only now come up. Otherwise I wouldn't bother you with it. Just take a deep breath and count to ten, there's a good fellow."

Merlin had gone crimson to his ears, but this last speech appeared to mollify him, and suddenly he raised his blue eyes to Arthur's and laughed.

"I should have realized when I came here," he said with a reluctant grin, "that this was a monarchy, not a democracy."


	6. What Morgana Had to Say

As time passed, it became clear to the staff of the Pendragon Institute that the Assistant Director and the new conservator had settled into a working relationship that combined argumentative, combative banter with a kind of cautious, wary friendliness. Arthur lost no opportunity to bully Merlin, and Merlin rarely lost an opportunity to speak his mind to Arthur. By the time Merlin had been on staff for a little over two months, people had grown accustomed to their occasional shouting matches.

Nobody at the Institute had ever seen or heard anything quite like it. At first they thought Arthur and the young specialist had taken a genuine dislike to one another, and a few waited with baited breath for Merlin to be sacked. When this didn't happen, they assumed that the two were simply establishing a manly cameraderie, but at the top of their lungs, like a couple of school children. Morgana had different ideas, but she kept them to herself.

Arthur told himself that the high decibel "discussions" he had with his new conservator were an enjoyable form of mental exercise, and that boy wonder types, no matter how talented, needed to be reminded who was in charge. At the same time, he realized that it gave him pleasure to watch Merlin's cheeks and ears flush rosy pink when he was shouting back, and to hear his accent become more pronounced.

Staff meetings became more entertaining than they had been in the past. No one complained when they became weekly, rather than monthly, events, due to the upcoming autumn loans and exhibitions.

"Now if _Mer_ lin will humble himself enough to grace us mere mortals with his most recent findings on the condition of that Legends manuscript," Arthur drawled on one occasion. "We, that is, I, can look into getting a value appraisal, and we can demand a Certificate of Insurance from the Evil-uh-from Morgause."

"Far be it from me to deny a request from His Highness the alpha animal," Merlin shot back, to the astonishment of rest of the staff. "I've printed out my report and have copies here for everyone. I'm actually more organized than you give me credit for."

"He's talking rubbish as usual." Arthur gestured in Merlin's direction, but he was smiling broadly.

"You're the alpha animal...what is this, a _zoo_?" Gwen asked with a straight face. "What does that make _you_ , Merlin?"

"A merlin is, you know, a bird of prey," Merlin replied modestly.

"Our resident budgie then," said Arthur.

"And Morgana?" Gwen pressed. "What about her?"

"She may look like a gazelle," replied Arthur, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "But she's actually a Siberian tiger. And yes, I am-"

"The alpha animal?" asked Lance, who was practically in hysterics, not being accustomed to this level of silliness at a staff meeting. Leon, on the other side of the room, was holding his sides with laughter.

"That's me," Arthur responded with mock severity. "And don't you forget it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

If anyone noticed that the Assistant Director spent more time in the Conservation studios than he used to, no one said anything about it. In fact, the only people who seemed to be intrigued by this change in Arthur Pendragon's carefully regulated schedule were Will, who scowled whenever Arthur appeared in his studio unannounced, and his stepsister Morgana. Who said nothing to anybody else, but managed to corner her stepbrother one afternoon in the Staff Lounge.

Arthur had been paging through some old exhibition catalogues and was totally unprepared when Morgana pounced on him.

"Arthur," she said loudly, and he raised his head to look at her.

"Arthur!" she repeated. "What's going on with your social life?"

"My... _what_? Morgana, what precisely are you on about?"

"Well, you haven't been out, on a date, in at least a couple of months. That has to be a record."

"So? Since when is it any business of yours, when I go out and with whom?"

"You're my stepbrother, Arthur, of course it's my business," snapped Morgana, patting him on top of the head as though he were a large dog. "I admit I was relieved when you stopped seeing Sophia. A more vapid little miss I never did meet-or at least on the surface. I always knew that sweet little-girl voice was hiding something."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd lay off my love life," Arthur replied testily.

"Your love life? Your sex life, you mean."

"Christ, Morgana! You're about a subtle as a ton of bricks," Arthur groaned. "And don't play the innocent with me-I've seen the way you look at Leon. That's not subtle either."

"Oh Leon," Morgana said airily. "A very nice young man, very bright, well educated, good manners, charming, don't you think? He has a literature degree; I can't think why he's working in as a guard in Security. I suppose biding his time in this wretched economy until he can find a better job. But I shouldn't be a snob. There's certainly nothing wrong with being a guard. Visitors like him. But we weren't talking about Leon. And no, you haven't seen the way I look at him because you've been too busy looking at Merlin."

"I've been...what?" Arthur stared at Morgana with narrowed eyes.

"Well, haven't you?"

"Morgana," Arthur said heavily. "You're fantasizing. Merlin may have his charms, but no, I haven't been looking at him. I have better things to do. Like running this bloody museum."

"Of course you do," said Morgana, sounding entirely unconvinced.

"Speaking of Merlin, though," Arthur went on, not givng her time to say anything more, "there's this auction coming up at Christies, and that thirteenth-century sculpture we were thinking of bidding on. I'd much rather we bid on the lion fresco from Sicily, it's extremely rare and a better work of art, as I think you'll agree. You know there's quite a bit of interest in that piece. A lot of museums and collectors will be bidding, if I know anything about it. Here's our advantage-Merlin's a new face, almost no one in the States knows him by sight, even if they've heard his name. I think we should send him to the auction. People won't have a clue who he is and on whose behalf he's bidding. Until after it's all over."

As it was common practice in the museum world to use "anonymous" bidders at auction, Morgana could only agree.

"So we'll scrap the sculpture and bid on the fresco," Arthur muttered. "Father's in favor of it. And you?"

"Oh, certainly. It's a magnificent piece. Now shall you go and tell Merlin, or shall I?"

"I'll go and tell him now."

"I thought you'd say that."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Mind you don't go all absent-minded and raise your hand at the wrong moment-and bid on the wrong object," Arthur said sternly.

Merlin gave him a reproachful look. "D'you really think I'm that much of an idiot?"

The Assistant Director raised one eyebrow and smirked. "Well-"

Merlin snorted. "I suppose you think someone will have to come along to stand next to me and hold my hand."

Arthur frowned. He had no desire to go to the auction and babysit Merlin by standing next to him. (He would be recognized immediately, and that would defeat the purpose of sending Merlin to begin with.) On the other hand, his imagination nagged at him, it would be interesting to have Merlin _lying_ next to him, or under him, or on top of him, in bed.

Arthur promptly told his imagination to shut up.

"By next week I should be able to give you the spending limit up to which you can bid," he said, clearing his throat. "The coffers are fairly full at the moment, we haven't bought anything since last year."

They were in the Objects Conservation studio, where Will was busy on the other side of the room and Gaius had stopped in to see how things were progressing, staying on to hear Arthur tell Merlin about the upcoming auction. Having examined the Legends manuscript, repaired two small tears and stabilized some flaking gold leaf, Merlin had pronounced it fit to travel and had returned to his work on the Mary Magdalene sculpture. The surface had lost several tiny flakes of wood and he was in the process of re-attaching them.

Arthur's senses leaped when he saw those sensitive fingers running lightly over the wooden torso of the Magdalene. He took a step backward and swallowed hard.

This really would not do. He had to get himself under control. Before he completely lost it and pushed the clueless idiot against a wall and-

"If you'll excuse me," he murmured, heading for the door, "I really must see Lance about the armour display in Gallery Three."

"You haven't been arguing with him again, have you, Merlin?" Gaius asked when the Assistant Director made his exit. "I can't imagine why he looks so cross."

Merlin looked slightly puzzled as he shrugged his shoulders.

"No, Gaius," he said, reaching for a brush. "Just the sight of me seems to annoy him, these last few days. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

Gaius frowned as he looked specculatively from Merlin to the door. Then he also shrugged, raising one eyebrow in his now familiar gesture.

"Well," he mumbled, turning back to Merlin. "Only time will tell."


	7. Success and Celebration

A week before the auction, Merlin showed up at work wearing his most disreputable pair of jeans, one of his striped rugby shirts, and trainers that had clearly seen better days.

"My God, Merlin!" said Gwen, nearly dropping her cup of tea. She, Morgana, and Lance were taking their ten o'clock morning break in the Staff Lounge when Merlin made his appearance.

"Going skateboarding after work are you, mate?" Lance asked curiously, and Merlin began to chuckle wickedly.

"I'm going down to the auction house during lunch hour," he said, surveying the holes that were just beginning to develop on the knees of his jeans with satisfaction. "A reconnaissance mission."

"Merlin," Morgana said severely. "You do not visit Christies, one of the best-known auction houses in the world, dressed like _that_."

"I'm going incognito," came the gleeful reply. "I want to study the Sicilian fresco, and this way no one will have any idea who I am."

"They'll think you're a high school student on lunch break," Gwen said, smiling. "That's brilliant, Merlin."

"I have a backstory all ready, in case anybody asks," Merlin said. "I'm a university freshman, writing a paper on medieval fresco painting."

"I love the fake tattoo." Lance pointed at the image of a fire-spouting dragon encircling Merlin's thin wrist. "Erm, it _is_ fake, isn't it?"

The Assistant Director put his head through the door. "Good morning everyone," he said, yawning, and then-"Good lord! Merlin! Did you get a tattoo?"

"It's fake, Arthur," Merlin said patiently. Arthur rolled his eyes at the sight of Merlin's garb, and then vanished, closing the door with a decided snap.

Before leaving the lounge, Merlin cornered Gwen and Morgana by the tea-and-coffee table.

"Why is Arthur angry with me?" he managed to ask through a mouthful of toast. "I mean, angrier than usual."

"What makes you think he's angry?" Gwen queried, glancing at Morgana as she spoke. "It doesn't seem..."

"Whenever I show up at a place where he happens to be, he disappears," Merlin insisted. "Or if he walks into a room and I'm there, he's gone like a shot. I think he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, Merlin," Morgana said gently. "Not at all. It's...it's hard to explain. But I hope you don't hate him."

Merlin looked surprised. "No...no, I don't," he murmured. "I rather like him, actually. Now that I know he's not as arrogant as he sounds."

"Arthur makes a habit of sounding arrogant," Morgana stated bluntly. "It seems to go with the territory. People almost expect museum directors to be that way. But he doesn't really mean it. He can't help it if he sometimes seems-"

"Supercilious," said Merlin, with a faint smile.

"You got it, as the Yanks say over here," Morgana agreed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Exactly one week later, a very different Merlin reported to the Assistant Director's office in the company of Morgana and Gaius. It was the day of the Christies auction, and the young conservator was dressed for the occasion.

"No bright colors and no, uh, rugby stripes," Arthur had instructed him the previous day. "And for pity's sake, nothing flashy. You don't want to attract attention, but you want to look eminently respectable."

"I don't wear anything flashy," Merlin had protested, but Arthur hadn't been listening.

Now Merlin shuffled a little as he waited for Arthur's pronouncement.

Arthur stood up and inspected his newest employee without speaking. Merlin was wearing a dark suit with a spotless white shirt and black tie ("I was right! He looks really good in black."), and well-polished black shoes; his hair was smooth, his demeanor modest. The elegantly cut jacket made him look tall, slim, distinguished. Perfect.

"You look quite handsome, Merlin," Morgana murmured, and Gaius chuckled to see Merlin blush.

Arthur sat back down again.

"That's...good, that's very good," he said with a formal smile. "Ready to go? You're already registered with the Bid Department, just don't forget to pick up your paddle. You've memorized the lot number of the fresco, I expect? And while you're there, keep an eye out for the competition-I'd be interested to know who else is bidding."

"I doubt I'll know anyone by sight," Merlin mumbled, looking suddenly downcast.

"It doesn't matter; I'd forgotten. Well, you'll get to know _everyone_ sooner or later," Arthur replied, trying to sound encouraging. "Just relax, you're going to be fine."

Just then Gwen opened the door to Arthur's office, smiling.

"Arthur ordered a car to take you there, Merlin," she said, looking the young man up and down. "It's just arrived. Oh...you look SO adorable!"

Morgana burst out laughing, and Arthur, Gaius, and Merlin groaned.

"Ready," said Merlin, looking as though he was marching off to his execution. As he headed for the door Arthur approached him and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Just don't fu...don't mess anything up, okay?" he half-whispered, grinning.

"Right," said Merlin with a wry smile. His first auction. They were counting on him. He hoped the bidding wouldn't go too high for the Institute to match. In any event, he would do his best not to fuck anything up, as that prat Arthur said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Less than three hours later, Arthur received a phonecall and noted Merlin's cell number on his caller ID.

"Yes? Merlin?"

"It's ours, Arthur, we got it!" Merlin's voice, normally cool and level when he was in work mode (and when he and Arthur weren't shouting at each other), seemed to have jumped two octaves and was a high-pitched squeak in the Assistant Director's ear. There were a great many other voices in the background as well. No doubt the auction had just come to a close.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief. "That's great. Good job, Merlin. Thanks. What are the damages?"

"What are the...?"

"How high did the bidding go? No, wait, sorry. Don't tell me now, wait until you're back. I'll let Morgana and the technicians know we can expect delivery...when? Never mind, I can't really hear you, tell me when you get back."

Arthur rang off and then dialed Morgana's extension.

By the time Merlin walked through the front door of the Institute everybody had been told, and there was a near-festive air in the Lounge where many of the staff had congregated. Merlin was slapped on the back and congratulated until he turned crimson, Gwen gave him a hug, Gaius was beaming with pride, and a delighted Morgana announced to the entire room that she was planning an article on the Sicilian fresco for an upcoming issue of the museum's biannual journal. There was some muted applause which became much louder when she added that she was standing drinks for everyone at The Griffin as soon as work was over for the day.

"I wonder who was there, at auction," Arthur said quietly to Morgana, after the cheering died down. "I imagine Morgause was present for the Metropolitan."

"Olaf told me he was planning to bid for the Chicago Art Institute," murmured Morgana. "I can't think who might have shown up for Boston." And then, "Merlin! Don't fall asleep, we're all going to The Griffin to celebrate after five."

Arthur went to the telephone to contact the Dragon and let him know the amount by which the Institute's purchase fund would be diminished.

"You see, I didn't fuck up," Merlin said under his breath as he brushed past Arthur on the way to the door. Arthur smiled and gave him a thumbs-up sign, privately thinking that Merlin looked entirely fuckable in that sober dark suit.

Before long, most of the Institute's upper-level staff were outside in the crisp early autum air, heading for The Griffin, an elegant bar just off Madison Avenue. Once inside, they comandeered the front room, which was all dark, polished wood and flowers in Chinese vases, lit with sconce-shaped lamps on the oak paneled walls. Under the genial eye of the elderly bartender-who knew all of them except for Merlin-they settled down to some celebratory drinking. Several staff members from the Metropolitan Museum were there ("Drowning their sorrows, no doubt, because _they_ didn't get it," crowed Morgana), and a sprinkling of people from local businesses. A few salespeople from nearby pricey clothing boutiques- _all_ of whom seemed to know Morgana-hovered around the edges of the group. Other customers stared openly at the museum crowd, and Gwen sighed as she made her way to the bar and positioned herself next to Merlin.

"Here we go!" she said under her breath. "This is what always happens-at least five or six girls will hit on Arthur and Lance, and Arthur and Lance will get thoroughly plastered."

Arthur was actually reminding himself to stick to wine and not get too terribly pissed-although thankfully it was Friday and he could sleep late the next morning-when he noticed two things. The first was that it was becoming patently obvious that Merlin's tolerance for alcohol was very low. The young conservator was resting one hand on the bar, but he was swaying ever so slightly, and the expression on his face was that of a happy, sleepy baby at the breast. The second was that the crowd had parted slightly to admit the shapely figure of a dark-haired woman, who was headed in Arthur's direction. One look at those beautiful, predatory eyes and those full, crimson lips, and Arthur felt his heart sink.

"Arthur," the woman said, flashing a brilliant smile, her eyes going from the Assistant Director to his blissfully smiling employee. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your young star? I saw him at the auction earlier today, but of course I had no notion of who he was."

Like both Merlin and Morgana, her skin was very fair, her hair jet black. The scoop neck of her black dress showed off a bosom of handsome proportions, and her lips were very, very red.

"Yes, of course," Arthur said, doing his best to be polite. "This is Merlin Emrys, our new conservator. Merlin, may I introduce Nimueh-Head of Conservation at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts."

* * *

**Note: At most auction houses like Christies' and Sotheby's, once you've registered with the Bid Department you can pick up your paddle (which looks a bit like a table tennis paddle, but has a number on it) on the day of the auction. You raise it in the air when you want to make a bid. The auctioneer keeps track of bidding, and smacks his/her gavel down when the final bid has been reached.**


	8. An Awkward Situation

"A pleasure, Mr Emrys," said Nimueh, turning her sparkling gaze on the young man in question. "Of course, I've heard of you. A shame, really, that you chose the Institute over us, but I can understand the lure of the bright lights and the big city."

"Boston's a nice city too," replied Merlin, taking the hand with scarlet-tipped fingers that was held out to him. "I've been there. Very good to meet you, Nimueh. Hic."

He looked admiringly at the Boston conservator, who had leaned toward him slightly, revealing a great deal of plump, alabaster cleavage.

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek but managed to maintain a social smile, whilst silently cursing their decision to come to The Griffin. They could just as easily have gone to The Boar's Head, or The Poisoned Well, two rather raucous bars frequented by younger types, but just as conveniently located. The Griffin was a well-known hangout for museum people, and it stood to reason that anyone who had been in town for the auction would stop in here for a drink.

He himself had known Nimueh for years, as had almost everyone at the Institute. She and Uther had once been friendly-exactly how friendly Arthur did not know-and she had once been considered for a position in the Institute's Conservation Department. At the last moment, Uther had decided against hiring her, under circumstances that still remained murky, and the friendship between the Senior Director and the beautiful conservator had come to an abrupt end. Arthur was also aware that Nimueh had known his mother, but he knew little else about her personal life. She was certainly youthful-looking and incredibly sexy-every man who met her was affected by the electricity of her physical appeal-but she always reminded Uther's son of a glittering, venomous snake poised to strike.

Completely abandoning his earlier decision to stick to wine, Arthur ordered up a double whiskey.

"I heard about you from a friend in London," Nimueh was saying to Merlin with a brilliant smile. "Your fellow graduates from the Courtauld sing your praises. How are you enjoying New York? And working with dear Arthur?"

Dear Arthur gritted his teeth. Nearby, Morgana and Gwen cast sympathetic glances in his direction, Lance mimed throwing up into his drink, and both of Gaius' eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead.

"New York's nice," said Merlin, smiling beatifically, his eyes straying once more in the direction of Nimueh's generously-displayed chest. "Nice city. Nice museum. Nice job."

"Well," Nimueh murmured silkily. "I'm sure Arthur's a lovely boss."

"Nice Arthur," Merlin replied happily. "Hic," he added, clutching the bar for support.

"Ah," said Nimueh, gesturing towards a nearby table. "Why don't we sit down, Merlin, and you can tell me all about it."

To the great relief of Arthur (who had just knocked back his second double whiskey), Gaius suddenly emerged from the crowd of their colleagues and made his way to the bar, clapping a fatherly hand on Merlin's shoulder and effectively inserting himself between the young man and Nimueh.

"Merlin, my boy, you are royally pissed."

"Not." said Merlin resolutely. He was still standing straight and upright, but his cheeks were tinged a light pink, his dark lashes were fluttering over sleepy blue eyes, and his expression had gone from smiling to definitely drowsy.

"We must get you home."

"Will c'n see me home," Merlin mumbled affably. "Knows where I live."

But Will, it seemed, had disappeared earlier. Gaius looked from Arthur to Gwen and Morgana. Lance and Leon had obligingly taken Nimueh off to a table and were regaling her with tales of recent exhibitions at the Institute. Arthur sent them a grateful look, and Gwen cast a sour glance in Nimueh's direction.

Merlin suddenly sagged at the knees and sat down hard on a bar stool.

"Arthur," Morgana whispered, "you can get him into a cab. Do you happen to know his address?"

Yes, oddly enough, Arthur did happen to know it. Why he had memorized it weeks ago he had no idea-at least he couldn't think of a good reason why.

"Steady on," Gaius murmured, touching Arthur lightly on the arm. "Are you sure _you're_ all right, Arthur?"

"Arthur," Morgana snapped, raising her eyebrows in a near-imitation of Gaius. "What have you been drinking, you stupid boy?"

"Shut up, Morgana!" hissed Arthur under his breath, putting down his third glass. Aloud he merely said, "It's okay, Gaius, _Morgana_ and I will see Merlin home. Or at least into a cab."

"You bastard," Morgana said loudly but without rancour, looking regretfully in Leon's direction as she and Arthur took Merlin by the elbows and guided him into the street. Outside it was dark and misty, almost Londony, with the damp night air creating pale haloes around the streetlights. Arthur supported a now seriously slumping Merlin, whilst Morgana raced to the curb and began waving down taxis. As an empty one approached she gave a shrill whistle that made both Arthur and Merlin wince, and the yellow car came to a screeching halt in front of them.

"Where to, guys?" asked the gum-chewing cabbie as Morgana opened the car door and Arthur bundled Merlin inside.

Arthur gave the driver Merlin's address, and then turned to his stepsister.

"He's going to sleep-he'll never make it into his flat."

"We'll just have to go with him then," Morgana replied crossly. "I hope his flat isn't a walk-up."

"Hey, youse guys," the cabbie interrupted, eyeing his backseat passenger with suspicion. "He ain't gonna puke in my cab, is he?"

"No, no, of course he isn't," Arthur said reassuringly, although he had no idea if this was the truth. "You won't, uh, puke in this gentleman's taxi, will you, Merlin?"

"Okay, buddy," the cabbie replied good-naturedly. "But if he does, you're cleaning it up."

"Right, I promise," sighed Arthur, praying that it wouldn't be necessary.

"Fuckin' A," the cabbie grinned. "Good man. Better strap your pal in."

"Let him have the window seat, Arthur," whispered Morgana as she slid into the cab next to Merlin and began fastening his seat belt.

"I'm going to strangle him on Monday," Arthur said under his breath as he sat down next to Morgana and pulled the door closed. The taxi pulled away from the curb with a shriek of rubber against asphalt, and a velocity that flung all three passengers violently backward.

"Try to stay awake, Merlin, there's a good boy," Morgana pleaded as the cab hurtled downtown.

"Merlin-that's a good one! Jeez you English people have funny names," the cabbie shouted jovially over the rumble of the motor. Arthur and Morgana exchanged glances, but Merlin, completely oblivious, let his head fall onto Morgana's shoulder. Morgana sighed and patted him absently.

Once in front of Merlin's building, Morgana paid and generously tipped the driver whilst Arthur manhandled his semi-conscious conservator out of the back seat.

"Thanks, honey," the cabbie said to Morgana with an appreciative leer. "Hey, you want I should help youse get him inside?"

"That's very kind of you, but I think we can manage," Morgana said firmly, taking Merlin by one arm as Arthur seized the other. "Come on, Arthur, let's get him upstairs."

Merlin's flat, as it turned out, _was_ a walk-up, but only two flights, which they managed to climb without incident. Arthur fished Merlin's key out of his pocket and let all of them into the modest apartment, after which he deposited their yawning charge in the nearest chair and looked around for the light switch.

"Shall we just leave him here?" Morgana whispered. "Or should we put him to bed?"

Merlin's eyes had popped open and he looked from Arthur to Morgana.

"Where's the lady?" he asked plaintively. "Pretty. Nimueh. She's pretty."

Arthur and Morgana scowled simultaneously.

"You're pretty as well, Arthur," Merlin said reassuringly, smiling at his boss. Arthur could hear Morgana sniggering behind him, but he pretended not to notice.

"Very," yawned Merlin, closing his eyes again, as his fingers began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.

"There's nothing for it," Arthur muttered as he hoisted his conservator out of the chair and half led, half dragged him into his tiny bedroom. "We'll have to put him to bed, Morgana. Give me a hand, will you?"

"Excuse me?" Morgana grumbled as she helped Arthur pull Merlin's jacket down his arms. "I am _not_ going to help you undress him whilst he's drunk and can't protect himself from you. In fact, I think it's time I went home and left you to deal with this. If I can trust you to behave honorably, that is."

"Morgana," shouted Arthur, who was beginning to feel very much the worse for wear. "I don't know what you're talking about. Yes, he's drunk, but so are you drunk, and I'm drunk as well. I'm in no condition to ravish Merlin, whether he's unconscious or not. Not that I would even think of it-I'm not a total degenerate, you know."

"No, I don't know," snorted Morgana, who, amazingly, was still steady on her four-inch spike heels. "But I'll take you at your word...this time. Now I'm off, I feel about to collapse. And don't forget, you owe me for cab fare."

Before Arthur could offer another argument, she turned on one tapering, four-inch heel and vanished through the door.

"Bloody Morgana," Arthur murmured as he helped a staggering Merlin divest himself of his shirt and trousers. Once he was stripped to his underwear, Arthur pushed him gently into his bed and covered him with his duvet. He then went to the kitchen, found a battered saucepan, and brought it back to the bedroom, placing it considerately on the floor by the bed, just in case Merlin felt the need to be sick in the middle of the night.

It was when he righted himself that the delayed effect of the whiskies, combined with fatigue, hit him like a sledgehammer, and he sat down on the bed, holding his head in both hands.

Surely Merlin wouldn't mind if he bunked down on the sofa? Arthur made his way back to the living room and stared at the sofa, which was not only rather small but also strewn with books, papers, and writing utensils.

Perhaps Merlin wouldn't mind if he slept in the big armchair in his bedroom?

Having returned to Merlin's bedroom, Arthur toed off his shoes and looked at the armchair. It would be much more comfortable than the sofa. Now if he could just get his jacket off...He sat on the edge of Merlin's bed and struggled out of his jacket, managed to pull off his tie, and fumbled with his cufflinks.

Then everything simply went dark.


	9. Morning Explanations

Sunlight woke Arthur, but he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to face the hangover-related headache he was certain was awaiting him.

At least he was warm and comfortable. What time had he gotten home last night?

Wait...had he gotten home last night?

Without opening his eyes, Arthur realized that something-a lot of things-seemed different and unfamiliar. The bed beneath him felt softer than his expensive, extra-firm mattress. The pillow beneath his head was thinner than the extra-plump, down-filled pillows he knew he owned. The duvet was warm, but something else was making him warmer-he seemed to be all tangled up with a set of long limbs, and a head- _someone's head!_ -was resting on his shoulder. He could feel the tickle of silky, disheveled hair beneath his chin. At home? Not bleeding likely. So where, exactly, was he? Even the thought of opening his eyes terrified him.

"Mmmff," came a sleepy, familiar voice from somewhere below his collarbone.

Arthur froze.

That was _Merlin_.

Memory came back at a gallop. Everyone drinking at The Griffin. Nimueh. Himself and Morgana bringing Merlin home. Putting a sleeping Merlin to bed. Preparing to settle into Merlin's armchair for the night...what happened? Had he passed out on the edge of Merlin's bed? How had he ended up IN Merlin's bed? He seemed to be wearing his shirt, although he could tell that the cufflinks were missing, as were his trousers. Bloody hell.

Okay, so he'd fantasized about being in bed with Merlin. But not like this.

Maybe it was all just a dream?

It's now or never, Arthur. Open your eyes, you stupid bloody coward.

With a feeling of dread, Arthur cracked his eyes open, blinked at the sunlight streaming through the window not far from the bed, and then opened them wider. He'd been right. It was Merlin. And less than a second later, Merlin's own eyelids fluttered open and one pair of blue irises stared into another.

There was a sudden, violent flurry as arms and legs sought to disentangle themselves, and both men yelled out a horrified "NO!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, his accent suddenly very pronounced, his eyes doing their best to focus. "What are you doing in my bed?"

They had retreated to opposite ends of Merlin's rather narrow mattress, and were now sitting up, Arthur in his extremely rumpled shirt, his fair hair awry, and Merlin in his boxer shorts.

"How...I remember the pub...that lady...was I in a taxi?"

"Yes, you bloody well were, you imbecile," Arthur snapped, realizing that he was on the verge of losing his temper and feeling, somehow, that this was all Merlin's fault.

"So...why are you in my bed?" Merlin rubbed his eyes, glanced down at his naked torso, and then shot an accusatory look at his boss.

This was not getting better and, as far as Arthur could tell, could only get worse.

"Merlin," said Arthur desperately. "This isn't what it looks like."

"Really," replied Merlin, blearily but skeptically. "And what does it look like?"

Arthur realized it wasn't helping matters that he was sporting a regular railspike of a morning erection. He would have felt completely miserable and humiliated except that the way Merlin was bunching the duvet about his lower half suggested he was in a similar condition.

"Merlin, you can't think...can't possibly imagine that, uh, I did anything to you, can you? Because I swear I didn't. I simply fell asleep. After Morgana and I got you home."

"Right," said Merlin, squinting in the morning light. "Did anything to me? Meaning?"

Arthur lost his tenuous hold on his temper. " _Mer_ lin," he roared, "you can't possibly think that I ra-ravished you last night! If you do, you're a prize idiot."

"Ow!" Merlin pressed his fingers against his temples. "My head! Why must you always _shout_? All right, I'm sure you didn't, erm, ravish me. If you had,"-he gestured in the direction of Arthur's railspike-"I'd probably be in agony. Now if you'll excuse me," he said in a more dignified tone, "I'll be back in five minutes."

He stood up, pale and thin but lissome in his underwear, and marched into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. A moment later, Arthur heard the shower running full blast.

"Sodding idiot," Arthur said-to himself.

He slid out of bed, located his socks, shoes, belt, and trousers, put them on, and then spent three unproductive minutes looking for, but not finding, his cufflinks.

The bathroom door opened and a puff of steam emerged along with Merlin, whose damp hair was standing up in spikes all over his head. He wore only a towel slung around his waist, and his expression was decidedly pained.

"I think my head is going to fall off," he groaned. "I'll make some coffee-would you like some?"

As Arthur watched, he put both hands up to his head and sagged against the wall. The towel fell to the floor, but he made no move to retrieve it. Heroically averting his eyes from what he was tempted to glance at, Arthur picked up the towel and handed it over.

"I don't suppose you'd mind if I..." Vocabulary seemed to be abandoning him, and he made face-washing gestures, pointing at the bathroom door. "You wouldn't happen to have a spare toothbrush, would you?"

"Be my guest," Merlin replied, with one hand still to his head. "Spare toothbrush in the cabinet."

When Arthur emerged ten minutes later, feeling refreshed and a bit more presentable, the bedroom was empty and he could hear rattling noises in the kitchen. Making his way there without falling over (why did Merlin have to pile so many books and papers on the floor?), he found his host preparing coffee whilst a thin ribbon of smoke rose from one of the slots in an ancient-looking toaster. Once again Arthur was amused by the contrast between Conservator Merlin Emrys, with his meticulous, almost magical touch and his remarkable focus, and the other, off-duty Merlin whose awkwardness was a cross between epic and adorable. After nearly scalding himself pouring out the coffee, Merlin wrestled a charred and smoking piece of bread from the toaster, tossed it hapharzardly into the sink, and then slid two fresh slices of bread into the venerable machine.

"Thanks," Arthur murmured gratefully as he poured milk into a mug of frighteningly black coffee. "You know, it's amazing-you're so precise and exacting and perfectionist in the studio, but outside of it you seem to endanger everything you touch."

He realized as soon as he'd uttered the words that this was hardly a complimentary thing to say, but he had simply given voice to what he had been thinking.

"You're a riddle, Merlin."

"So I've been told," Merlin replied. Fortunately for Arthur's peace of mind, he had put on some clothing-jeans and a grey tee shirt-and the blue eyes beneath the damp black fringe were now surprisingly alert and clear. "When your dad interviewed me, he said that if he hadn't been assured of my 'brilliance' from seeing my work, he would have assumed that I have a mental affliction."

Arthur snorted. "That sounds like my father. Tactful bastard, isn't he? No, don't answer that."

Merlin chuckled. "I don't know that he particularly liked me, but he liked what I can do. Toast?"

"Please."

They sat in amicable silence, munching their toast and manfully downing great gulps of Merlin's ferociously strong coffee. Looking about the room, Arthur noted a cluster of framed photographs on a side table. Merlin with a pleasant-looking brown-haired woman Arthur assumed was his mother. Merlin in a rowboat on a lake. Merlin as a young child, staring directly into the camera lense. (The unnervingly intense gaze reminded Arthur of Morgana's much younger half- brother Mordred, who was at school in London.) Merlin asleep next to a large, wide-awake Rottweiler. Merlin with his arm around a very pretty dark-haired girl on the lawn of what Arthur recognized as the Great Court of King's College, Cambridge.

"Your girlfriend?" Arthur asked, pointing to the photo.

"Mine that was," Merlin replied, raising his shoulders with a little smile. "We're still friends, though. Were at uni together. She's living with some bloke in the Lake District, but we email each other occasionally."

He had, in fact, received an email from Freya only the day before. He often thought of her with affection; they had enjoyed a rather sweet relationship and had a lot in common, even though they were in different fields. In spite of her changeable temper-she could be charming and childlike at one moment, as fierce as a wildcat the next-they had gotten on well. Arthur was staring at the picture with a furrowed brow and an odd expression that Merlin attributed to a hangover headache, so he put thoughts of Freya aside and rummaged in his kitchen cabinet for aspirin.

Arthur gratefully accepted the aspirin, along with a glass of orange juice.

"I'd best be off then," he mumbled a little dejectedly, looking at his watch. "Look, if you find my bloody cufflinks..."

Merlin stood politely and walked him to the door.

"Thanks for breakfast," Arthur said, not quite meeting Merlin's eyes. "Cracking toast."

Merlin actually laughed. "Now you're quoting 'Wallace and Gromit' at me?" Then his face went serious. "I, erm...thanks for bringing me home. You and Morgana. And I'm sorry. I gather I was completely sloshed, as the Yanks like to say."

"Completely," Arthur replied with a straight face.

"Well, no worries...I really never thought that you, uh, you know, whatever. I know you don't fancy me, for God's sake." Now why in blazes was Arthur-admittedly a handsome prat-eyeing him so strangely?

"It's okay, Merlin," Arthur said, wiping his brow and giving his conservator a hard look. Even in his ancient jeans and drab tee shirt, dark morning stubble staining the pallor of his jawline, Merlin was desirable. What would that scrawny body feel like in his arms? _Properly_ in his arms, not like earlier that morning. Arthur knew that if it weren't for his hangover there was nothing he would have liked better to do than drag the young man back into his bedroom, tear off those wretched clothes, and shag him senseless.

Not that he would ever _really_ do such a thing. Not to a clueless, unsuspecting Merlin. It would be unethical beyond belief. Unprofessional.

"I'll see you on Monday," he said abruptly, and then made his escape before his libido could even try to get the better of him.


	10. Travel Plans

Gwen was working on a fifteenth-century Flemish tapestry, depicting a lord and a lady in a garden with greyhounds and a flowering tree, when Merlin walked into the Textile Conservation studio.

The studio, which actually consisted of two rooms, was on the top floor of the Institute. Gwen was ensconced in the larger room, an airy space with large arched windows across one wall. These let in a good deal of natural light, but UV-filtered shades were usually drawn to protect delicate fabrics and tapestries from the damaging effects of too much sun. (The second room, a spotless white chamber, was completely windowless.) Gwen was pacing back and forth in front of the tapestry when Merlin made his appearance, but she turned and smiled, putting down her magnifying glass.

"If you'd like a cup of tea," she said cheerfully, tucking stray curls into the headscarf she wore while working, "there's a fresh pot in the annex. But you'll have to drink it there-no food or liquids allowed in the studio, as you know."

"Thanks," replied Merlin, yawning, but he made no move to go to the annex (a small, bare-bones kitchen across the hall), and simply stood looking at the tapestry while Gwen surveyed him curiously.

There was something not quite right, she noticed almost at once. His boyish grin was intact, as was his gawky charm. Merlin's visual appeal-all sharp angles, cheekbones, and lovely contrast of ivory and black-was undeniable, even to someone as much in love with Lance as Gwen was. But there was something a touch off-kilter today.

It was Monday morning, a time when most employees were not particularly pleased to be back on the job, and Gwen was accustomed to seeing her colleagues drag themselves into their offices with gloomy expressions on their faces. This had never been the case with Merlin; he always seemed upbeat and cheerful-Gwen had never met anyone with a more positive attitude about work. This morning, however, he looked just a bit nervous, fidgeting slightly as he studied the section of tapestry that Gwen had been cleaning. At one point he pulled his glasses from the breast pocket of his shirt and attempted to put them on upside down, causing Gwen to burst out laughing as he turned them right side up.

"We may have to replace the linen backing," Gwen murmured, pointing at the tapestry. "Not something I look forward to. Soooo...have you recovered from the effects of Friday night? I noticed Nimueh trying to get her hooks into you."

"Oh," Merlin said with a wry smile. "There was an email from her on my computer this morning. She said she would love to have me visit the Museum of Fine Arts the next time I'm in Boston, and she'd be pleased to take me out to lunch."

"Good lord," Gwen exclaimed, stamping her foot in exasperation. "She moves fast! Beware of that woman! She'll be making you an offer, then."

"Making me...an offer?"

"Offering you a better salary if you defect from the Institute and go to work for her in Boston," Gwen explained patiently. "They're always on the lookout for good conservators. But to get back to Friday night...I see you got home safely."

To Gwen's surprise, Merlin blushed a deep crimson. "I...Arthur and Morgana took me home in a taxi."

"That was kind," Gwen said brightly. "But that's just the sort of thing I'd expect them to do."

"Really?" There was such deep skepticism in Merlin's voice that Gwen laughed again. "Morgana maybe," he continued, "but Arthur?"

"Oh, Arthur," Gwen shrugged. "People think he's cold. Milord, that sort of thing. But he's kind, really kind. Beneath the facade, you know."

"If you say so," replied Merlin.

"I do say so," Gwen said stoutly. "I've known him for years, Merlin, and I know that he's quite good at putting on airs. But he's not like that, inside. You know, or maybe you've heard-he and I were together, for a while, at university. And he stayed friends with me, after, and we've been best friends ever since. He's looked out for me. He's even been a little protective, almost like a brother. He'd defend me, if I needed defending. Good job he likes Lance."

"Erm," said Merlin.

"Of course there's his, uh, reputation," Gwen went on, "which is a bit exaggerated. Well yes, he _has_ been out with quite a few gorgeous women. A couple of gorgeous men as well. But I don't think he ever treated any of them badly. Most of them were just using him, to be truthful. Lately his dating's been fairly casual. When he finds his soul-mate, as they say, I believe he'll settle down nicely."

"Really," mumbled Merlin.

"Yes, really," insisted Gwen, brandishing her magnifying glass in her enthusiasm. "You and some of the other people who work here might find it hard to believe, but he's a genuinely caring person. Look, I'm sure he not only took you home, but tucked you into bed before he left, he and Morgana. Isn't that so?"

"Erm," said Merlin and turned an even deeper red than he had before. "Something like that."

"Sorry." Gwen couldn't understand why Merlin looked so embarrassed. "I didn't mean to run on like that. After all, I'm meant to be working. Now, what's your opinion of this old linen backing? I think it will have to replaced. It's brittle and provides scarcely any support...Merlin?"

Merlin had been staring at the floor, but he promptly raised his head and gave the tapestry his full attention, as though glad to shift his thoughts to something else.

"Yes, I think you're correct," he said after a moment. "It won't be easy to get that one off, you'll need a small team to do it properly, unless you want to move in here and work on it twenty-four seven."

"Ha ha," Gwen muttered sarcastically. The two then launched into a discussion of methods and materials needed, and whether or not the Institute should have a series of new, high-res digital images made of the tapestry once treatment was completed. By the time Merlin left the studio, Gwen had nearly forgotten their exchange on the subject of the Assistant Director.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When the door to Morgana's office opened, she knew at once who it would be. There was only one staff member in the entire museum who opened other people's doors without knocking first.

"Come in, Merlin," she said unnecessarily, as Merlin was already over the threshhold.

"Good morning, Morgana," he mumbled before she could say anything else. "I wanted to, erm, thank you for getting me home on Friday. I take it I made a total idiot of myself."

Morgana smiled but suppressed the desire to laugh. "Oh, it's alright," she said briskly, smiling again at the relief that flooded Merlin's face. Honestly, there were times when the boy wore his feelings on his sleeve, he was doubtless the most terrible liar on the planet. "It was no trouble. I take it Arthur helped you get to bed before he left?"

Merlin groaned mentally as he felt his face flush for what must have been the fifth time that morning. "He...erm, yes, he did. I must go and thank him...if you'll ex-excuse me."

He ducked out of the room, leaving Morgana staring down at her desk, chewing on her crimson lower lip and thinking that she would have to tackle her stepbrother on the subject of last Friday night as soon as possible. Her head snapped up and her eyes brightened at the sound of an authoritative knock. A moment later the man himself strolled in and flopped down in the middle of her office sofa.

"Well, well," Morgana crooned, surveying Arthur with narrowed eyes. "If it isn't the gallant knight, savior of hapless townspeople, abducted maidens, and conservators who've had too much to drink."

"Oh shut up, Morgana," Arthur said briskly, adjusting the knot of his tie and looking remarkably smug. "You abandoned me at a crucial moment, leaving me to get poor Merlin out of his suit and into his bed."

"I hope you behaved yourself," his stepsister replied, her eyes still narrowed. "I mean, he's delicious, isn't he? As well as intelligent. A nice change from some of the ninnies you've been spending your spare time with."

"I don't know what you mean," Arthur said reprovingly. "I haven't been spending my free time with anyone, ninny or otherwise. As for Merlin, of course I behaved myself. He works for me. I'd never...well, you know."

"Arthur," Morgana said, rather sharply. "I can tell that you find him attractive."

"Morgs, _please_ ," her stepbrother exploded. "Will you stop it with this 'Arthur fancies Merlin' obsession of yours? Because it's becoming really irritating."

"That's because it's true," muttered Morgana. "Incidentally, he was just coming to see you. Didn't you run into him in the hall?"

"No," Arthur replied, frowning down at his slim gold tie clip. "I've had a thought, though. We ought to be introducing Merlin to more people. In the field, I mean. He doesn't really know a soul. There are some museum exhibition openings coming up. We can take him to a few of those and show him off-I mean, show him around."

"You mean _you_ can take him-?"

"No, no, either of us, or both of us. There's the Matisse show at the Modern next week. And the Renaissance paintings show at the Met. Of course Gaius can help introduce him around as well."

"Yeeesssss, I suppose you're right. And what else?"

"We're lending our Saint John sculpture to the Santa Barbara Museum of Art next month. You'll be going to the opening, of course, to represent the Institute. But the piece gets flown out there a week before the opening. I could send anyone as a courier with the sculpture, but I think it should be a conservator. To oversee the installation and do a condition-check. I was going to ask Will, he went the last time, but now I think we should send Merlin. Let him get to know professionals on the other side of the continent."

Morgana wrinkled her brow for a moment, and then smiled.

"That's quite a good idea, Arthur, I like it. You'd better run it past Merlin first, though. Suppose he doesn't want to go?"

"Suppose I don't want to go where?" came Merlin's voice from the door. "Sorry, I've been looking for...oh, there you are, Arthur. I was, uh, looking for you."

"You've found me," said Arthur. "We were just wondering if you'd like to courier a sculpture to California next month. We'd like to have one of our own there to watch them install it-it's for the Gothic sculpture show at Santa Barbara-and you could stay on for the opening."

Merlin's eyes brightened. "Thank you...I'd like to go. But shouldn't someone with more seniority-"

"Oh bollocks," Arthur said inelegantly. "We've all taken turns as couriers, Morgana, Gaius, Will, even me-"

"Even _I_ ," murmured Morgana.

"Shut up, Morgana, even _I_ , then. We thought it would be nice for you to get a little more museum experience, outside of the workroom, that is. The sculpture's going out there a week before the opening, for the installation. Morgana's flying out for the opening; you can stay on and attend it with her."

"Unless _you'd_ rather go to the opening, instead of me," Morgana said to Arthur, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

"No, I'll be too busy that week. Anyway, it'll be fun for the two of you. The weather there should be great."

"Just be aware of one thing, Merlin," Morgana said teasingly. "At the opening night party you'll be hit on by any number of pretty young things, and some not-so-young things as well. It's wise to be mentally prepared. I remember the last time we sent Lance as a courier. Gwen was livid. Even though he was as good as gold."

Arthur grinned, remembering the bemused look on Lance's face when he had returned from an opening at the Cleveland Museum of Art. Not surprisingly, the armor specialist's smoldering, dark good looks had attracted a good deal of attention, and it was Morgana's joke that he must have had to fend the ladies off with one of the museum's own shields.

"The Santa Barbara people will put you up at a nice hotel," Morgana went on. "Just mind some ambitious assistant conservator doesn't come creeping into your bed whilst you're asleep."

To her surprise, both Arthur and Merlin blushed. Merlin dropped the file of papers he was holding, and Arthur lost a little of his cool, commanding demeanor.

"I was joking, of course," she said soothingly, and watched as Merlin's blush slowly faded, and Arthur (after a poisonous glance in her direction) regained his composure.

"I'm off," Arthur finally said, getting to his feet and heading for the door. "I've got reading to finish. See you later, Merlin."

But Merlin was also on his way out the door. Once they were in the hallway with Morgana's door closed behind them, Arthur set off in the direction of his own office, but a light tap on the arm turned him around to find his conservator less than two feet away. Merlin put out his hand, the fingers closed around something, and Arthur, perplexed, extended his own. Merlin gently placed his missing cufflinks in the center of his palm, the delicate touch of his fingertips setting off a tingling in Arthur's hand that felt like the tiniest of electric shocks.


	11. Bewitched

Arthur was sitting in his office, going through a list of upcoming loans to other museums, and listening to a CD he hadn't played in years. It was a recording of old hits from the mid-twentieth century (favorites of his paternal grandmother), and the song he was listening to was usually associated with Frank Sinatra, although many other crooners had recorded it. In this case, the vocalist was the jazz diva, Ella Fitzgerald, whose distinctive tones echoed through the room until Arthur remembered to turn the sound down.

_**I'm wild again, beguiled again** _

_**A whimpering, simpering child again** _

_**Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered-am I** _

_**Couldn't sleep, wouldn't sleep** _

_**Love came and told me I shouldn't sleep** _

_**Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered-am I** _

_**Lost my heart, but what of it** _

_**He is cold, I agree** _

_**He can laugh, but I love it** _

_**Although the laugh's on me** _

_**I'll sing to him, each spring to him** _

_**And long for the day when I'll cling to him** _

_**Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered-am I** _

There was a light footstep at his door, and Arthur looked up to see Merlin leaning against the door jamb, a grin on his face.

"I'd never have thought Arthur Pendragon listened to this sort of thing," he murmured, eyes bright with amusement.

"And what sort of thing do you imagine I listen to?" Arthur said acidly, turning the sound system off. "The latest in indie neo-punk?"

"N-no," Merlin replied apologetically, but Arthur could see that he was still amused. "Who wrote that mawkish stuff anyway? Cole Porter?"

"Rodgers and Hart, you idiot," snapped Arthur, sitting up straight. "Not that I'd expect you to know it, it's way before your time. Way before my time as well, actually."

"Then why are you listening to it?"

"Because I like it," said the Assistant Director, trying hard not to lose his temper. He and Merlin had not had a shouting match in weeks, and Arthur wanted to keep it that way. For the past month he and Morgana, and sometimes Gaius, had taken turns bringing Merlin to various museum exhibition openings, introducing him to people they felt he should know. In the midst of all this, Arthur had prevailed upon a reluctant Merlin to purchase a second suit, so that he didn't have to wear the same one to every event. He had managed not to reveal the peculiar sensation that came over him at the sight of his conservator clad in an elegant grey suit with a tie that was nearly the color of his eyes, and when Morgana shot him a meaningful glance he had simply turned his back on the two of them.

" _Mer_ lin," he now said, inwardly smiling to see the light of battle appear in Merlin's eyes, as it did lately whenever Arthur spoke his name in that way. "You didn't stop by to discuss old songs from American Broadway musicals. What can I do for you?"

_Oh gods, what would I like to do for you?_ his testosterone level whispered in his ear.

"I came to talk to you about the Santa Barbara loan," his conservator replied in an uncertain voice. "The sculpture was crated yesterday. I have my e-ticket; I'm all packed, I have my photographs and condition notes, with a copy for the people in Santa Barbara. One of their curatorial assistants is meeting me at the airport. Is there anything you need me to tell the director, what's-his-name, when I get there?"

" _Mer_ lin," said Arthur gently. "You don't leave for two days. Calm down. And no, I don't have any messages for the director. If I think of any, I'll let you know. Don't forget your driver's license. For ID."

"I haven't got a license."

"Well, for God's sake bring your passport, then."

"Okay," Merlin answered, and vanished.

Arthur turned the sound system back on, grateful that Merlin had not been there to hear the last two verses-especially since he had chosen to listen to this song with Merlin in mind.

_**When he talks he is seeking** _

_**Words to get off his chest** _

_**Horizontally speaking, he's at his very best** _

_**I'm vexed again, perplexed again** _

_**Thank God I can be oversexed again** _

_**Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered-am I** _

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So," said Will, staring fitfully into the dregs of his tea. "You're off to California in two days. For a week. And then Morgana goes out for the opening. You've decided to stay for it, of course."

"Of course," replied Merlin, stretching his arms skyward, trying to de-tense his the muscles in his shoulders and back. "I've never visited Santa Barbara. Arthur says it's beautiful."

"Oh! Arthur says!" Will growled, turning to stare at his friend. But Merlin, sprawled on the sofa, paid no attention. They were taking their four o'clock break in the staff lounge, where, for some unknown reason, no one else had joined them.

"I'm quite surprised his lordship isn't going to the opening instead of Morgana," Will continued, trying to catch Merlin's eye. "I mean...I think it's beginning to be obvious that he rather fancies you."

There was a loud thump as Merlin fell off the sofa.

"Oh, don't worry, I don't think anyone's noticed beside myself and maybe Morgana," Will muttered. "Everyone else just thinks he likes to bully you, or that the two of you enjoy arguing with each other for some weird, arcane reason that has nothing to do with _lust_."

Merlin picked himself up and sat back down on the sofa.

"Why do you dislike him, Will?" he asked quietly. "He's always been civil to you, hasn't he?"

"Don't change the subject," Will replied with a feeble grin. "And I never said I _disliked_ him. I don't actually dislike him-I just don't trust him. With other people's feelings. Like yours."

"Why? Because we contradict each other? That's just the way we seem to communicate best."

"And what do _you_ think of him? You've certainly got to be very matey lately."

"Fuck's sake, Will!" said Merlin, who rarely swore. "Precisely what are you on about?"

"Well, it's my opinion that he _wants_ you. The question is, do you feel the same about him?"

Merlin rolled his eyes with a vengeance. "Will, you're daft. Barking mad. I like Arthur. We get on fairly well. He's not as arrogant as he seems. But that doesn't mean that he lusts after me, or that I, erm..."

Unbidden, his mind flashed back to several different images of Arthur. The Assistant Director behind his desk, strikingly handsome, well-groomed, just a touch supercilious. Arthur in the Conservation Studio, brows drawn together and full lips pursed as he studied some object under the lights, golden hair falling over his forehead. Arthur sitting up in Merlin's bed, shirt rumpled, hair standing up every which way, but that face-so beautiful.

"Of course you're not really his type," Will went on as if he hadn't been listening. "He's usually seen with very glamorous, fashionable people."

"Thanks," said Merlin, standing up and looking about for his keys. "And now I've got to finish my paperwork, so I'll take my non-glamorous, unfashionable arse off to the studio, if you don't mind. See you at five."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shortly after five o'clock, the Assistant Director, Morgana, Gwen, and Lance left the Institute and headed in the direction of Hengist's Grill, an inexpensive burger joint several blocks east. Along the way they ran into Leon and persuaded him to join them-not that it took much persuading. Once they had invaded the small, crowded space, they settled into chairs around one of the plain, formica-topped tables, relaxed, and ordered what they always ordered: a round of beefburgers and a pitcher of Coke.

"Oh-we should have brought Merlin with us," Gwen said remorsefully as they started in on the burgers, juicy, a little burned on the outside, and slathered with ketchup.

"He won't eat these," Morgana replied tartly. "He's a vegetarian."

"They do have other things," Gwen sighed as she played footsie with Lance under the table. "Toasted cheese sandwiches. Cole slaw. Pickles."

"Imagine making a meal of pickles," Arthur frowned. "Even Merlin wouldn't do that."

"I suppose he does all his own cooking," Leon said, pouring out Coke. "He lives alone, doesn't he, Morgana?"

"For now," Morgana responded, shooting Arthur a wicked glance.

"That won't be for long," Gwen said, giggling. "I mean, have you ever met anyone so _adorable_? Girls just want to sweep him up and hug him and squeeze him and carry him off-don't you think?"

"All of those high school girls who do volunteer work in the library for Geoffrey think he's, I quote, scrumptious," said Morgana, smiling. "But I do have to question their taste-after all, they make eyes at Arthur all the time."

"If I'd known this conversation was going to go all girly," Arthur murmured disdainfully, "I would have gone to The Griffin by myself."

"Such a spoilsport," sighed Morgana. "Well, we mustn't forget to wish Merlin good luck tomorrow. It'll be strange to go a week without him."

"It's probably just what I need," replied Arthur crossly, reaching for the pitcher of Coke and ignoring the glances that flew back and forth across the table at his words.


	12. Flowers and Champagne

To a young man who had spent his early childhood in Armagh, Northern Ireland, his teen years in the small town of Ealdor in England, and the past few months in the congestion and glitter of New York City, Santa Barbara came as a shock to the senses.

For starters, it was _warm_ , very warm. In early November. There were flowers all over-on the sidewalks, hanging from buildings, in the gutter. The city itself, caught between the mountains and the Pacific Ocean, was beautiful with its scattering of Victorian houses and buildings in the Spanish Colonial Revival style. Everywhere Merlin looked, there seemed to be white walls and red-tiled roofs. Very Mediterranean...to go along with the climate, and the palm trees that also seemed to be everywhere. Merlin's hotel, close to the museum, was surrounded by a garden, and every morning for a week a car came from the museum to pick him up at the front door.

Everything had gone smoothly, much to the young conservator's relief. From the moment he and the crated sculpture had arrived at the small airport, he had been well taken care of. Installation of the piece-a polychromed wooden figure of John the Baptist from the fourteenth century-had not been difficult. Merlin had watched as museum technicians placed it on a wooden base in the exhibition gallery, and fitted a plexiglass case around it. This had taken less than a day, although Merlin stayed on in the gallery to observe other technicians as they placed an explanatory label on the wall next to the case. After a stroll through the museum's collection, he then took himself outside to enjoy the weather and get a feeling for the city.

Merlin kept in close touch with the Pendragon Institute via his laptop, and it seemed to him that he was receiving an inordinate amount of email from the staff there. Will and Gaius kept him updated on what was going on in the Conservation Studios. Lance and Leon emailed him jokes, cartoons, and humorous news snippets. Gwen sent him at least three or four chatty messages daily. Morgana's emails were, naturally, more serious in tone, as she quizzed him about the condition of the sculpture and the preparations for the opening of the exhibition. The only person who had not emailed him...or telephoned him...or faxed him, was Arthur.

Strolling along the waterfront, or browsing in the high-end shops on Lower State Street (some of which would have had Morgana maxing out her credit cards in an instant, had she been present), Merlin had plenty of time to think over the startling claims made by Will a few days earlier. His initial response was to reject them. What in heaven's name could have given Will the notion that Arthur desired him? It made absolutely no sense, as far as Merlin could see. He, Merlin, was not glamorous or socially well-connected. He might be talented, and people already might be talking about him, but in terms of the Institute's hierarchy he was a mere junior conservator, recently hired, with little status in the museum world. He could see no reason for Arthur to find him appealing. Even if what Will had said was true (and how could it be?), there was no way in hell that a...relationship with his boss could go anywhere.

Merlin generally tried to be honest with himself about himself. Not surprisingly, given his profession, he had a strong aesthetic sense, and beauty in any form had always attracted him. Since meeting Arthur Pendragon, he had admired the man's physical beauty in the same way that he would have admired a statue by a Renaissance master. Of course Arthur's body was not marble or bronze, but living, breathing flesh-something Merlin had given little thought to, until the morning he awoke to find the Assistant Director in his bed.

_Think back, Merlin. Did you feel anything at all about him, before that happened?_

_Well, maybe just a twinge. But nothing worth mentioning. It was fun, fighting with him all the time. Like throwing snowballs at one of the senior boys at school._

There were only three more days until the opening, and Morgana's arrival. After the exhibition viewing, and the party, and the dinner, they would pack their bags, and the next day fly back to New York. Time enough, after their return, to sort out these problematic thoughts and feelings.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The evening of the exhibition opening party was perfect-clear sky, crisp air, the beginnings of a magnificent sunset. Standing in front of the mirror in his hotel room, Merlin gave himself a once-over before going to the phone to call the front desk. Surely Morgana would have arrived by now. The room assigned to her was just down the hall from his; her flight had been scheduled to arrive at noon, but there was evidently some problem and it had been delayed.

The party was Black Tie formal, but Merlin had no tux and refused to buy one. The dark suit, white shirt, and black silk tie would have to do.

A final call to the front desk did not enlighten him. Morgana's flight was still delayed. He would have to go on to the museum without her. She would understand.

He could have ordered a car but it was such a beautiful evening, and the weather was so mild, that he decided to walk. It was a mere ten minutes to the museum. The air was fragrant with floral scents, and as he walked Merlin occasionally sneezed-there were just too many bloody flowers in this city-while he watched the evening sunlight turn the many red-tiled roofs to glowing copper.

As he had been warned, the galleries allotted to the special exhibition, "Sculpture in the Gothic Age," were packed with wealthy museum patrons and trustees, local politicians, members of the press, and couriers-like himself-from other institutions lending works of art to the show. After walking through the galleries with difficulty (they were simply too crowded), Merlin made his way to the room where the reception was being held. Dinner would be upstairs, in the Trustees' Dining Room. There was a buffet table of hors d'oeuvres in the reception room, and champagne was flowing freely. Remembering to have _just one glass_ , Merlin looked mournfully at the buffet table, where the majority of the hors d'oeuvres seemed to be comprised of various kinds of meat. Weren't Californians supposed to be health conscious veg-eaters?

"Merlin."

Merlin pivoted and found himself face to face with Nimueh from Boston. She was resplendent in a dark crimson gown, her lips and nails made up to match, and her smile was as dazzling and predatory as it had been earlier that autumn in New York.

He caught his breath and said, "Hello."

"I'm delighted to see you," Nimueh said, shaking his hand and holding onto it a bit longer than was strictly necessary. "It's so nice of Arthur to let you off the leash. Isn't this a lovely city? What do you think of the exhibition?"

They chatted about the show, and the objects the Boston Museum had loaned to it. Nimueh's dress was cut very low in the front, and she seemed intent on leaning in Merlin's direction at every chance she got, to the extent that her bosom was on the verge of toppling out of the restraining fabric. Merlin took a small step backward, one eye on the door in the hopes of seeing Morgana, and prayed that the shoulder straps of Nimueh's gown were sturdy enough to prevent a wardrobe malfunction.

"How is dear Arthur?" Nimueh finally asked after nearly half an hour of shop talk. "Quite a bright boy, and a clever director. So many notches on his bedpost, however. People have quite lost count. Or perhaps you've heard?"

Merlin wondered whether she had had too much to drink. "Erm, no, I hadn't, but I don't really listen to gossip about my colleagues."

Nimueh laughed. 'Well, as long as you're not one of them."

"One of them?"

"Notches, I mean."

That was too much. "How are things in your Conservation Department?" Merlin asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction. There was a moment of silence, during which he wondered _just how many_ metaphorical notches there were on Arthur's bedpost.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Nimueh murmured, swaying closer, "how you're liking New York. You know, my director has instructed me to inform you that we'd be happy to have you on staff, should you ever think of leaving the Institute. I think we can offer a generous salary package, with decent benefits."

"Erm, well..." said Merlin.

One of the Santa Barbara museum staff members slid past his elbow. "The rep from your Institute has just arrived," she said into his ear before moving away. "It's about time-the flight was dreadfully delayed."

"If you'd care to discuss it," Nimueh continued, putting a hand on Merlin's arm. "I'm staying at the Marquis Hotel, it's just three blocks from here. In case you'd like to stop in there for a drink, on the way back to wherever they've put you."

Merlin was in no doubt that Nimueh intended to offer more than a drink at the hotel bar. She would probably make him an offer of an entirely different sort-and then (if he accepted it) work very hard to make sure he enjoyed it.

Okay, she was hot. Older than he, but extremely hot. Six months ago he might have leaped at the opportunity. But now he didn't really want to...in fact, he _definitely_ didn't want to...

_Morgana, where are you?_ he groaned silently.

Nimueh's smile was deepening and her fingers slid down Merlin's arm to his wrist. Then suddenly she stiffened and dropped her hand, a faint hiss coming from between her scarlet lips. She was staring in the direction of the door, and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. Morgana-at last!

Only it wasn't Morgana. Merlin turned to look-there was quite a large group of people around the doorway-and blinked in astonishment.

Arthur had emerged from the crowd and was coming towards him.


	13. What's For Dinner?

As Arthur approached, Merlin sensed Nimueh's disappointment, but she lifted her head and gave a good approximation of a gracious smile.

"Arthur! Such a surprise! We were expecting Morgana."

"I know," Arthur replied calmly, taking Nimueh's hand and shaking it. "Sorry to disappoint. It was supposed to be Morgana. But she's ill-strep throat."

"Ugh," said Merlin and Nimueh simultaneously.

"Precisely," nodded the Assistant Director. "She telephoned me yesterday. I had to have her ticket transferred, and my luggage-not that I have much-packed by this morning. Then the flight was delayed. It's been chaos."

He was speaking as though to Nimueh, but his eyes were on Merlin.

"Well, I'll leave you two to discuss things," Nimueh murmured smoothly. "I'm certain Merlin has quite a lot to tell you about the exhibition. I'll just go and have a word with my own courier-see you tomorrow morning, perhaps?"

"God have mercy," muttered Arthur as she swept away down the crowded room. "I hope she isn't at our hotel."

"She isn't," Merlin responded. "Arthur...I can't believe you're here. Poor Morgana."

"Yes," Arthur said absently, remembering Morgana's phonecall. She had sounded terrible-hoarse and strained-but a part of him had wondered whether this was all some sort of set-up on her part, to get him alone in California with Merlin Emrys.

He recalled a much earlier conversation with Morgana. "Delicious," was what she had called Merlin, and indeed, his conservator was looking extremely-edible.

Aloud, he only said, "What's for dinner?"

"I have no idea," Merlin replied faintly. "I just hope it isn't all ribs and chops. If you've had enough of this reception, let's go upstairs and find out."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Trustees' Dining Room was full of round tables with shining white tablecloths, napkins folded into mitres, and flowers in crystal vases.

There were name cards on the table, and after locating Merlin's place, Arthur appropriated Morgana's seat, which fortunately happened to be next to it. The menu offered a choice of _ribs and chops_ , or stuffed tomatoes. They eventually prevailed upon the waiter to bring Merlin a plate of sauteed vegetables and a side dish of fruit, which came to the table with more champagne.

"Really, Merlin," Arthur said sternly, surveying his conservator's meal. "If this sort of rabbit food is all you eat, no wonder you're so thin."

"There are plenty of things I can eat," Merlin replied in a defensive tone. "I'm allergic to raw tomatoes, though." He eyed the Assistant Director's plate of massive beef ribs as though it were a poisonous snake.

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur said warningly as Merlin reached for his wine glass.

"I know, I know," Merlin muttered under his breath. There were six other people at their table-three couples, to be exact-and for several minutes Arthur made social chit-chat whilst Merlin looked around the room, trying to spot familiar faces.

"I see some museum people you introduced me to in New York," he whispered. "But I can't remember their names."

"Yes," Arthur whispered back. "I should take you over to greet them...it would be rather charming to watch you er-umming when they all remember your name and you can't recall theirs."

"Prat," said Merlin, and Arthur laughed. He was looking straight into Merlin's eyes, and the younger man felt a warmth spread through him, pleasant and unexpected.

"What luck Nimueh's not at our table," Arthur said quietly. They spotted her at a larger table across the room, holding forth with wht appeared to be sparkling wit, by the way her tablemates were giggling and smiling. One hand rested on the arm of the middle-aged man next to her, and Merlin grinned involuntarily.

Arthur noticed. "Ah," he said, drawing Merlin's eyes back to his. "The fair Nim is making a move on the unfortunate gentleman to her right. I suppose she did the same thing to you, before I came along to spoil it?"

Merlin felt his ears go pink. Bloody hell, why did Arthur always have to make him blush? "Well, erm, yeah, sort of," he answered feebly. "I think she wanted me to, you know, defect to Boston."

"It doesn't surprise me, but that's not what I meant," Arthur said patiently. "I'm sure she wanted you for something else as well. Nimueh eats pretty boys like you for lunch."

Merlin was sure that he'd gone red as a tomato. "I'm not pretty," he mumbled, trying to hide behind his newly refilled wine glass. "And I wasn't interested, if that's what you're thinking."

"I shouldn't really say such things of her behind her back-how rude and unchivalrous of me," Arthur drawled, "but I know damn well she says things like that, and worse, about me."

"Yes," Merlin agreed. "She says-" He stopped abruptly and looked as though he wanted to clap his hand over his mouth, whilst the other hand, holding the wine glass halfway to his lips, shook a little. He didn't think it was possible to go any redder, and was grateful for the dimly lit room and their tablemates' lack of interest in their conversation.

Arthur reached out a hand and, to Merlin's surprise, closed it softly around the stem of Merlin's wine glass (and Merlin's fingers), lowering the glass to the tabletop.

"No more just now, _Mer_ lin," he said, but his voice was so gentle that Merlin could not take offense. "I wouldn't want anyone-Nim for example-to think I was trying to get you drunk."

Merlin decided that it was time to defend himself-after all, he never had any difficulty talking back to Arthur at the Institute. "I wasn't planning on getting drunk, and why anyone should think _you'd_ want to get me drunk is beyond my understanding."

Arthur sighed. "It's my undeserved reputation," he murmured, so that their neighbors at the table could not hear. "That is, more or less undeserved. Rumours tend to grow unchecked when...when certain people spread them. And most people are only too happy to believe the worst of others. It isn't true, what they say, though."

"What...what do they say then? And who are 'they'?"

"Oh, you haven't heard? _They_ are the people in Nimueh's social circle, and some museum people as well. They say that I seduce-or attempt to seduce-every attractive person who crosses my path. Which is ri _di_ culous. I'm not irresistible. And God knows I've never dated anyone from the Institute. Never anyone I work with. So their assumption that I might be putting the moves on you is completely unfounded."

"Their assumption... _what?_ They assume what?"

"Oh never mind, it's not important," Arthur said briskly, glancing around the table. "Now, did Nim really offer you a place in Boston? What cheek! I doubt they need any more conservators than they already have."

Merlin blinked. "Well, she, erm, did say that if I ever wanted to leave the Institute, she-"

"Ah," exclaimed Arthur with a deliberately haughty look. "Perhaps she'll want you to supply references from your current employer, then."

Merlin could tell that Arthur was laughing, so he smiled back and his sense of mischief reasserted itself. "And what would you say if I asked you for a reference?"

"Well." Arthur smiled. "You've been terrible."

Merlin raised his eyebrows.

"Really. I mean it. The worst conservator I've ever had," Arthur continued with mock seriousness.

Merlin burst out laughing and Arthur watched him, his eyes on those full, parted lips, the flush over his cheekbones, the line of his pale throat, partly hidden by the collar of that immaculate white shirt.

"Thank you, _sire_ ," Merlin finally said with his wide, engaging grin, and Arthur restrained the sudden urge to caress one of those prominent ears. "A reference like that is bound to get me a good position at a top-flight institution."

"Eat your dessert, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said, grinning back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A little over an hour later, they found themselves outside, ambling slowly in the direction of their hotel. It had taken a while to extricate themselves from the museum crowd, and to say the appropriate things to the organizers of the exhibition opening. The Santa Barbara curators had raved to Arthur about the skill and charm of his newest conservator, and Arthur had thanked them, aware of Merlin smirking in the background. Leaving Merlin in a circle of his new admirers, he had even made his way over to Nimueh, kissed her hand with sardonic gallantry, and bid her good night.

The air outdoors was so fresh and sweet with the scent of flowers and the sea that they stood for a moment just outside the museum, taking deep breaths and winding down from the hectic events of the day.

It was past ten o'clock, but there was enough illumination from the street lamps to prevent their getting lost. At the same time, it was dark enough for Merlin not to worry about his propensity to blush whenever Arthur made a particularly cryptic remark.

There was a distant rumble of thunder and they quickened their pace, not wanting to get caught in a rainstorm. Halfway to the hotel they came to a fork in the road, and Merlin stood undecided. Arthur took him by the elbow and pointed him in the right direction.

At that slight touch, neither lingering nor intimate, a tingle ran from Merlin's arm through the rest of him, and in that moment a number of things that had confused him for days suddenly became clear in his brain...and in his heart…and elsewhere.

Merlin was by no means drunk, but he had had enough wine to give him a degree of false courage.

"Arthur," he said hesitantly, his eye on the lights of the hotel windows, several blocks distant. "Why should anyone think you want to, well, seduce me?"

Arthur looked startled, but his voice was steady. "Merlin, are you asking me this because you've been listening to gossip and you're seriously considering leaving the Institute for Boston?"

"Erm," said Merlin. "You don't want me to leave?"

"On the contrary," came the brusque reply. "I very much hope you'll stay with us."

"I'd like to stay in New York."

"In that case," Arthur replied reassuringly, "you have nothing to worry about."

"W...what?"

"I would never dream of attempting to...uh, of making overtures to someone who worked for me," Arthur said in a tone that was clearly meant to be decisive, but was just as clearly covering a very different sentiment.

"Arthur!" Merlin said fiercely, "You don't fancy me."

Arthur said nothing but he looked at Merlin, his face expressionless, and then looked away.

"What does it matter?" he finally said. "If I did, I wouldn't do anything about it. You work for me. We work together."

"So?" Merlin said in a barely audible voice.

" _So_ -rumour to the contrary, I _do_ have a sense of ethics," Arthur said flatly. "Theoretically speaking, as your boss I have 'power' over you. People would think I pressured you, and you gave in to save your job. They would also think I was the world's most unscrupulous git. No doubt you would as well. Hang on, here we are!"

They stopped at the well-lit door to the hotel. Arthur was pale but calm, whereas Merlin looked vaguely agitated, his eyelids flickering and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

"I think I might need a drink."

"No, Merlin, you most certainly do not need a drink," his Assistant Director stated firmly. "But I think we should go in, unless you want to get caught in the rain."


	14. Arthur and Merlin

The fashionably spartan decor of the hotel lobby made it feel even emptier than it was. A yawning female desk clerk looked up with sudden interest as the two attractive young men, one fair with an athletic physique, the other dark-haired and exceedingly slim, strolled through the lobby and headed for the lift.

"They gave me the room reserved for Morgana, and I'm relieved the decor isn't horribly girly," Arthur muttered-just to say something, anything-as both stepped out into the third floor corridor. "I can't remember my own name; what time is our flight tomorrow?"

"I think it's at four," Merlin replied glumly as they came level with his door. "They want us at the museum for a farewell luncheon, promptly at noon. So I'm setting my alarm for eight...erm, this is my room."

Arthur wouldn't look at him. "I'll say goodnight then. Sleep well. Shall I see you at breakfast?"

"I suppose so." There was an uncomfortable silence before Arthur gave a brief smile and turned to go.

"You're just down the hall, Number 318," Merlin said, too quickly, and Arthur turned back. This time he did look at Merlin, directly in the eyes, and his expression softened.

"I can see I've upset you. We shouldn't have spoken of those things."

"No...it's alright. I spoke of them first." Merlin hunted in his pocket for his room key. "I hope you're not angry with me."

"Angry with you, Merlin?" Arthur's voice was unexpectedly tender. Before setting off down the corridor, he reached out and touched Merlin very lightly on the shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Good night."

"Good night," Merlin said almost under his breath, fumbling with the key, which promptly fell out of the lock and onto the floor. Cursing silently, he picked it up, opened the door, and entered the darkened room. Down the hall, he could hear Arthur turning the lock in his own door, and he bit his lip, hard, before collapsing, fully clothed, onto his bed.

Will had the last laugh on him, the tosser. What he had suspected turned out to be true. Merlin had told Will that he was mistaken, and had defended Arthur against Will's negative remarks. He had said in all honesty that he liked Arthur. But now he knew that he wanted him as well.

He wandered absently into the small, well-appointed bathroom, where he stripped, showered, and brushed his teeth. Back in the bedroom, he turned on the television, hunted for news programs, channel surfed for several minutes. It was no good. He wasn't tired. He couldn't sleep. Energy hummed through his veins like a drug. He had offended the Institute's Assistant Director, had asked him questions only a friend of long standing had the right to ask. He must make things right with him. He would go to Arthur's room, and if he was still awake, he would apologize. It wasn't yet midnight. Breakfast would not be the place to talk anything over, nor would the museum or the airport.

Having come to a decision, Merlin felt much better. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, ran a comb haphazardly through his damp hair, and left his room, heading several doors down the hall to Room 318, where he inspected the bottom of the door. From the thin line of light visible there, and the faint sound of televised voices, he could tell that Arthur probably was not sleeping.

Steeling himself, he knocked softly, and seconds later, Arthur opened the door.

"Look, I'm sorry for...I'm sorry I...I shouldn't have asked...erm, what I mean is..." Merlin couldn't remember ever having babbled quite so badly in his life.

"It's okay, I promise," Arthur replied, looking somewhat surprised. He had removed his jacket and tie, but was otherwise dressed as Merlin had last seen him, and there was a fleck of toothpaste on his upper lip.

"Erm, sorry, you're halfway to bed, I shouldn't have...shouldn't have bothered you." Merlin realized that once you started babbling, it was difficult to stop.

"No, it's alright. Don't apologize, for either thing," Arthur said cooly, running both hands through his hair. "But if you're going to insist on apologizing, don't do it standing in the hall, you'll wake the other guests."

He pushed the door open wider and stepped to the side, leaving Merlin little choice but to enter.

The room was lit by a single bedside lamp, and the window curtains had been opened slightly, to give the occupant a view of the trees and scattering of city lights outside. Arthur took two steps towards the television and turned it off.

"There was nothing interesting on," he muttered before Merlin could say anything. "Unless you count a National Geographic program about a zoologist who says he's discovered a breed of gigantic naked mole rats."

Merlin walked to the bedside table and fiddled with the standard-issue digital clock. "I've set your alarm. And I'm sorry-"

"If you apologize for anything one more time," Arthur said warningly, "I'm going to lose my temper."

Merlin felt incredibly awkward. "I suppose you'd like to smack me upside the head, as they say over here."

Arthur looked extremely amused. "Well, the thought had occurred to me," he answered with a curl of his lip that was half smile, half grimace. "But I might have an unfair advantage in a physical contest...beef rib chewing, carnivorous creature that I am."

"I'm stronger than I look," Merlin heard himself say.

"Don't tempt me," Arthur replied, frowning. Turning his back on Merlin, he walked to the window and stared out at the darkness, the nearly invisible treetops, and the winking city lights.

"Look, Merlin," he said after a moment. "I suppose you may have guessed by now that I,"-he paused-"that I'm attracted to you. But I never planned to act on it, and I wouldn't. I never meant for you to know, and I'm sorry you've found out. That was my fault. I hope this won't affect your feelings about your job..." His voice trailed off and he continued to stare out the window, very conscious of Merlin standing close behind him.

He heard Merlin clear his throat. "I don't think I felt that way about you...when I first came to the Institute...but subconsciously I...anyway now...it's different, and I feel...I..."

From the sound of his voice, he had taken a step closer.

"Merlin," said Arthur, his voice very low and almost angry. "If you're going to stand there for very much longer, I don't think I can-well! What I mean to say is, you have about sixty seconds in which to leave this room, because if you're still here when I turn around, I can't answer for my actions."

There was silence, and a moment later he felt a hand tugging at his shoulder. Slowly, feeling thoroughly uncertain (not a sensation he was accustomed to), he turned around and there was Merlin, directly in front of him, his face paler than usual, his jaw set and eyes downcast.

There was a lengthy pause, during which the breathing of both men quickened imperceptibly, and then Arthur put a hand carefully on Merlin's shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked quietly, running his hand lightly to the side of Merlin's neck. There was no reply, but Merlin raised his eyes, which were level with Arthur's-they were more or less the same height; if anything Merlin was a scant half inch taller-and Arthur could see trust there, and desire. So he took a step closer, and felt Merlin's hand on his arm, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

"Arthur!" Merlin suddenly said, too loudly and a little panicky, but he did not move away, and his fingers tightened on Arthur's shirtsleeve.

"Shhhhh, Merlin," Arthur whispered and closed the gap between them.

Merlin's lips were pillowy and soft, and he stood very still whilst Arthur kissed him. After a while, he closed his eyes and kissed back. The room suddenly seemed much warmer, and when Arthur's mouth grazed his throat, and then nipped at his ear, he gave a start, and felt Arthur pause.

"Are you sure YOU want to do this?" Merlin asked under his breath, his voice sounding high-pitched and anxious.

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur said half teasing, half serious. "Don't make me feel like I've just robbed the cradle. You decide. You're an adult."

"Yes, Arthur," Merlin replied, trying to get control of his rapid breathing. "I'm an adult. You're an adult. You're even more of an adult than I am, chronologically speaking." ( _Oh for pity's sake, he was babbling again.)_ "And I'm perfectly aware that when adults kiss like that, they don't usually stop at kissing. There's a natural progression."

Arthur smiled slightly. "Only if you want to."

"I want to," sighed Merlin, and turned his face back to Arthur's. They had both begun to tremble a little. Arthur's large, warm hands cupped Merlin's face, and then lightly stroked those remarkable cheekbones. There was no going back now.

By degrees, they managed to make their way to the bed, where Merlin, feeling slightly embarrassed, switched off the bedsight lamp. Arthur undressed Merlin (lingeringly) and then himself (quickly) in the dark, and somehow they found themselves on the kingsized mattress, mouths locked, arms around each other, hands moving langorously, as much skin as possible pressed together. In what Arthur liked to think of as the natural progression of things, he would have rolled on top almost immediately, but he felt Merlin's palms pushing at his chest. Curious, he allowed himself to be maneuvered onto his back, and then caught his breath as Merlin leaned over him, running those conservator's hands delicately and precisely over the length of his body, much as he might run his hands over a work of sculpture in the Conservation Studio. It was as though he were exploring and carefully memorizing every swell or hollow of musculature and flesh with those sensitive fingertips. Nobody, Arthur realized through a haze of passion, had ever touched him like that before. The sensation was unbelievable, excruciating. He took it for as long as he could, trying not to move, before finally seizing Merlin around the waist, pulling him down, and then shifting their positions until he was uppermost.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"My God, Merlin," he gasped some time later, as he waited for his heartbeat and breathing to slow down to a normal rate.

He could hear Merlin's panting begin to subside, his head pillowed on Arthur's shoulder, one hand clenched in the soft, golden down on his chest. Arthur's own fingers were buried in that silky, rumpled mop of black hair. He wished, vaguely, that there was enough light to let him look at the planes and angles of Merlin's oddly angelic face, so that he could read the expression there.

"Oh Arthur."

For the past half hour? hour?-it was impossible to tell-they had clung together, limbs intertwined, bodies sliding and rubbing against each other. His own excitement, spurred on by Merlin's faint moans- _Ah, aaahhh, Arthur, yes, yes, yes!-_ -and that truly delicious, full-lipped mouth, had gone far beyond anything he had thought he could feel, with the smoothness of that pale skin beneath his hands and lips and tongue, the surprising, tensile strength of that very lean body shuddering and arching in his arms, Merlin's slender fingers curled tightly around him exactly where it mattered. Merlin was so much slighter than he that Arthur was almost afraid that he would hurt him, but the soft cries he heard against his ear were all of pleasure. No penetration this time; the heat of their desire, the friction and pressure of their hips grinding together, had been enough to bring them to a nearly simultaneous climax, the intensity of which startled them both.

In the sweetness of the aftermath they lay quietly, caressing very gently, not speaking until now.

Arthur kissed Merlin's brow, and felt him smile against his shoulder.

Merlin sighed and flattened his hand against Arthur's chest. Only moments later they drifted into sleep, but with his last conscious thought, Arthur cursed the fact that tomorrow they would have to drag themselves in to the Santa Barbara Museum of Art, acting as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had just happened between them.


	15. California Morning After

Merlin woke nearly half an hour before the alarm was meant to go off. He could tell that it was morning, because the brilliant California sunlight was clearly discernible through his closed eyelids. Muffled sounds of a television in the room next door mingled with the twittering of birds just outside the window.

He raised his eyelids and there was Arthur lying beside him, his blue eyes wide open, a little smile on that handsome face whose neatly chiseled features were slightly blurred by blond morning stubble.

"Bright light!" Merlin complained, shielding his eyes from the California glare, and Arthur chuckled.

"If I remember correctly," he said, "that was a line from some children's movie about fuzzy creatures called gremlins."

Merlin gave a small cackle of laughter, and then sighed, one forearm across his eyes to block out the light. For several moments they simply lay still, preparing themselves for the business day ahead, and mentally adjusting to the change in the nature of their relationship. Whilst Merlin wondered whether the doings of the previous night were going to be repeated, Arthur reveled in the memory. At the same time, it occurred to him that he might have compromised his alpha male status as junior ruler of the Pendragon Institute-it was going to be much more difficult to order his conservator around in the future.

But how sweet Merlin looked with his hair all spiky and awry against the pillow, his expression unguarded and childlike!

"What's this luncheon thing about?" Arthur finally asked, yawning. "If it's anything formal I refuse to go."

"Informal," mumbled Merlin. "Sandwiches."

"Well, that's a blessing anyway," replied his Assistant Director, stretching leisurely and rubbing his eyes. "We can go-hey!"

Merlin had pulled all the covers off him.

"I want to see you," he said in such a serious voice that Arthur, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious, lay still and let his young conservator study him.

"You're beautiful," Merlin whispered, eyes lingering over Arthur's broad shouldered, well toned, golden magnificence.

"All right," Arthur said, raising one eyebrow in a manner that would have done Gaius proud. "You've had your look. Now it's my turn." He pulled softly on the sheet and blankets Merlin had bundled about himself and pulled up to his chin.

"There's nothing to see," Merlin said defensively.

"Let me be the judge of that," retorted Arthur, yanking fiercely. The blankets went flying across the bed and he propped himself up on one elbow, smiling with approval at the sight of the slim shoulders, the throat, which was long and graceful but masculine, the coltish limbs, the thin but finely formed torso, the narrow flanks, all covered by milky white skin dusted in several places with soft, dark hair.

" _You're_ beautiful, _Mer_ lin."

"You must be mad," said Merlin with conviction.

"Quite," replied Arthur, moving closer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I really need a nap," said Arthur a half hour later, once he had got his breath back and could speak. "Just ten minutes. That'll give me enough time for a shower."

They had disentangled themselves and lay side by side, feeling the slight breeze from the partially opened window cool their heated bodies, drying the sweat that dampened them. There were shadows like pale bruises under Merlin's eyes, but the eyes themselves were sparkling, and they gazed with sleepy pleasure at the golden head on the pillow next to his.

"A pity the alarm had to go off in the middle of...of things," he murmured pensively. "Good job it wasn't a personalized wakeup call. Are you _actually_ going back to sleep?"

"Yes. I can be ready to go downstairs in half an hour."

"I'm starving," Merlin whispered, sitting up halfway. "But Arthur...there are other couriers here besides me. We can't go down to the dining room together, can we?"

"I don't see why not," Arthur retorted, yawning. "I'm looking forward to a proper, meat-laden breakfast. Is there anything on the breakfast menu that YOU can actually eat, or you're not _allergic_ to? Nobody has to know that we spent the night in the same room, dimwit."

It was plain as day that Arthur's prattishness had reasserted itself.

Merlin bristled. "According to you, half the world thinks-ow!"

Arthur had pulled him down and pinned his shoulders to the bed.

"Arthur," Merlin groaned, "I am really, _really_ hungry!"

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur replied gently, settling the dark head against his shoulder. "I'll be awake in ten minutes. And haven't you ever heard of room service?"

Arthur was as good as his word. He slept for ten minutes precisely, then rolled out of bed and marched straight to the shower. As Merlin was convinced that he would faint from lack of (meat free) nutrients if he had to wait his turn, they showered together. This might have delayed them further, except that they were both so ravenously hungry that they agreed, without saying anything specific, to put passion on hold until they had had something to eat. Thus, they were scrupulously careful to keep their hands to themselves and their eyes at chest level or above, an exercise that had them both snorting with laughter by the time they were ready to turn off the water. As they toweled themselves dry, Arthur went on at great length about _bacon_ , _ham_ , and _sausages_ , not neglecting to mention _tomatoes_ , and roared with mirth when Merlin grimaced and stalked out of the bathroom in pretended disgust.

Room service was prompt, so they pulled on the hotel's heavy white towelling robes and gorged themselves on what turned out to be quite passable breakfast food. After looking askance at Arthur's massive western omelet and bacon, Merlin downed his oatmeal porridge, banana, and toast in record time, before curling up on the bed with a newspaper that had been delivered with their meals.

Arthur glanced from his empty plate to Merlin's. "I can see we're going to need to have separate grocery lists," he murmured, flopping down onto the bed and appropriating half of the newspaper.

"Separate grocery...Arthur, what are you talking about?"

"I imagine we'll be eating at least some of our meals together in future," Arthur replied absently, engrossed in his newspaper. Then he held out one arm. "I'm far too full to contemplate doing anything lustful at the moment, as I imagine you are. But you can come a little closer if you want to."

Merlin smiled sheepishly as he settled into the crook of Arthur's arm, his own flung across Arthur's chest.

"We have to be at the museum by noon," he said, checking the clock. "It's a less than five minute drive from here. So we have until maybe eleven forty-five...we should check out before we leave, since a car's taking us from the museum to the airport at two."

"Fine," replied Arthur, setting aside the newspaper. "That gives us almost two hours to digest our breakfast. Don't fall asleep, Merlin, I don't want to have to wake you."

"I'm not sleeping," Merlin insisted. "And I have to fetch luggage from my room, before we can leave." He turned over onto his back and stretched, yawning with eyes closed and cheeks flushed pink. Arthur looked at him with consternation. _Much more of this_ , he thought to himself, _and I'm not going to be able to call my soul my own_. Merlin was entirely too addictive. He, Arthur Pendragon of the Pendragon Institute, was going to need a fix on a regular basis.

He loosened the collar of Merlin's robe and ran his lips lightly along the length of his collarbones.

Merlin's eyes popped open. "Arthur," he began.

"Okay," Arthur murmured. "That's all for now. I don't want to exhaust myself, or you. We still have this bloody luncheon reception to get through, and then the airport, and then New York. Plenty of time when we get home."

There was a moment of silence whilst Merlin peered at him with half-closed eyes, his dark lashes casting a shadow on those high cheekbones.

"Does that mean you want me more?" he asked huskily, and then blushed. "Don't play games with me. Talking about shared grocery lists and all."

Arthur scowled. "Of course I want you more, you twit," he snapped. "For pity's sake! What did you think, _Mer_ lin-that all I wanted was a quick fuck?"

As he spoke he watched the expression on the younger man's face run the gamut from alarm to concern to a kind of affectionate impishness.

"I'm not going to apologize," Merlin whispered, sliding back into Arthur's arms. "Because that only makes you angry. I never really thought all you wanted was a quick, erm, fuck. It was just my own insecurities talking."

His lips brushed Arthur's lightly, and then he was out of the bed, flinging off the robe and pulling on his discarded jeans and worn black tee shirt from the night before.

"I'll be right back with my luggage," he said, before slipping out of the door, looking charmingly disheveled, hair still awry. "And I think I'd better change into something a bit less casual."

The door closed softly behind him, and Arthur dutifully got to his feet and began setting his own overnight bag to rights. Whilst packing his unused pyjamas, hunting for his razor, and trying to remember where he had put his cufflinks from yesterday's shirt- _why did he seem to lose track of his cufflinks when Merlin was around?_ -he attempted to override the one frustrating thought that was working overtime in his brain:

He'd completely fallen for his impossible, infuriating, contradictory, _beautiful_ junior conservator.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Twenty minutes later, Merlin was back with his luggage, carry-on bag, and the forms and reports he had received from the Santa Barbara museum staff. He had changed out of his jeans and disreputable tee shirt, brushed his hair, and looked, as Arthur promptly told him, perfectly presentable.

"I've been downstairs already, and I'm checked out," Merlin said cheerfully, brandishing a receipt under Arthur's nose. "There was a message from Morgana in my mailbox; she must have phoned when we were at the dinner. "She wants to know how the opening went, how your flight was, what we thought of the exhibition installation, and whether we had a good time at the reception."

"I, for one, had a very good time, but not at the reception," muttered Arthur. "Not that it's any of Morgana's business. Now, if we can just avoid Nim at lunch, and get to the aiport early, everything should be fine."

For the next half hour, they went over Arthur's room with a fine toothed comb, unearthed his razor, located his cufflinks (which Merlin found tangled in the bedsheets), and watched the national news for an east coast weather report. Arthur admitted that arriving at the museum on time would give him the opportunity to look at the exhibition, so they phoned for a car and Arthur gave the room one last sweeping glance.

"Ready to face the enemy then, baby?" he asked, reaching for his jacket.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, "don't call me _baby_!"

"Right," said Arthur. "Are we ready then, idiot? We'll be late and the best sandwiches will be gone."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The informal lunch was laid out in one of the museum's conference rooms, and was for museum staff and visiting couriers only. There were piles of sandwiches on long platters, sliced raw vegetables in china bowls, and paper plates and napkins in great quantities.

At least half of the couriers from other museums were registrars, not conservators, and apart from Arthur there was only one other museum director, a distinguished, grey-haired gentleman who had known Uther for years. He and Arthur chatted amiably, whilst Merlin loaded a paper plate with vegetables. Arthur had spotted Nimueh at the other side of the room, but there was nothing he could do when she instantly (as he suspected she would) made a beeline for Merlin. He could not hear their conversation but could tell that she had set herself out to be charming, smiling, laughing from time to time, and once or twice brushing her fingers over the back of Merlin's hand. Merlin himself seemed to say little, but he maintained an expression of polite interest. Once, when Nimueh was not looking, he turned his head and looked at Arthur from under his eyelashes, his lips curving in a faint smile.

After a half hour Arthur had had enough. He excused himself to his father's old friend and made his way to Merlin's side, holding his hand out to Nimueh and gently insinuating himself between herself and his young conservator. To his relief, they were joined by several other people from the museum, and conversation became general, focusing on the glories of the local wineries, restaurants, and the southern California coastline. A pretty secretary tapped Merlin on the shoulder to let him know that his car to the airport had been ordered, and that it was due to arrive in fifteen minutes.

As they stood near the entrance, waiting for their car, Arthur noticed Nimueh, an elegant red travel case in one hand, looking around the lobby expectantly.

"Gods, she must be looking for _you_ ," he groaned, pulling Merlin outside and then out of sight of the crowded lobby. "There's no way we're sharing a cab with her all the way to the airport."

"You mean you don't want her to flirt with me, is that it?" Merlin asked with the most innocent of smiles.

"Certainly not," snapped Arthur, narrowing his eyes. Then under his breath he murmured, "You're _mine_."

"I had no idea you were such a possessive prat," Merlin said in conversational tones. "Look, here's the car. Let's go."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Five minutes before boarding their flight, Arthur received a text message from Morgana.

_Hi bro how was flight, receptn, Merlin? Did u get my rm? Call plz?_

"She'll have to wait," Arthur muttered as they boarded the plane, inched past a trio of cheery-faced flight attendants, and settled into their seats in Business Class. "Tomorrow's Wednesday, she can wait until then. She'll jump on me the minute I get to work in the morning anyway."

Merlin sneezed in reply. The plane taxied to the end of the runway and lifted off, soared upward. As it tilted, banking to the right, passengers caught a last glimpse of the green of Santa Barbara County, the blue of the Pacific, the dramatic rise of the Santa Ynez mountains. Merlin sneezed again, and without even being asked, one of the beaming flight attendants appeared with a package of kleenex tissues.

"Wouldn't you know it," Merlin sighed as the flight attendant made her way back to the front of the plane. "A week in sunny California and I go home with a cold."

"I saw her staring at you," Arthur grinned, jerking his chin at the departing attendant and lowering the back of his seat to a semi-reclining position. "She thinks you're good looking."

"That's because she only saw me in profile," Merlin replied, sniffling. "She didn't get the full effect of _the ears_. Anyway, how could she think I'm good looking when you're here for comparison?"

"I love your ears, Merlin," Arthur said with a half smile.

"Did I just hear the L word?" his conservator asked severely, drawing his brows together.

"They're splendid ears." Arthur went on as if he hadn't heard.

"Barking mad," said Merlin decidedly, lowering his seat to the same level as Arthur's.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After an entirely uneventful flight, most of which Merlin slept through, they disembarked at Kennedy Airport, retrieved baggage, and found themselves on the chilly walkway outside of the terminal, queuing for a cab.

As they were both rather exhausted, and burdened with bags and suitcases, they decided to take two cabs and go their separate ways rather than attempt a night of passion at either of their residences. Merlin's sniffling had gotten worse, but he promised to come to work the next day, deliver his report to the staff, and look over his upcoming conservation projects with with Gaius.

"If I don't show up tomorrow," he added, "people will think I'm recovering from a night of debauchery and mayhem with some California babe. And if _you_ don't show, they'll think you're _soft_. Which," he said mischievously, "you definitely are not."

"Are you ever going to change, Merlin?" Arthur sighed, both eyebrows raised.

"No," Merlin said with a gentle smile as he slid into the back seat of a cab. "You'd get bored."

The door slammed shut and the taxi pulled away from the curb, disappearing quickly in the teeming airport traffic.


	16. Home Again

**Chapter 16: Home Again**

Wednesday dawned clear and sunny. There had been rain the day before and during the night, but by nine a.m. the sky was a serene, cloudless blue. As Arthur strode toward the entrance to the Pendragon Institute, he took a deep breath of the cool, grass scented breeze coming off Central Park before pulling off his sunglasses and stepping inside. On the way to his office he passed Gwen, who gave him a friendly grin and a "How were things in Santa Barbara?" and Gaius, who said, "Merlin's already here, he's downstairs looking over his notes. Oh, and he has a cold. Imagine getting a cold in Southern California!"

Properly ensconced in his chair, behind his massive desk, Arthur looked through the pile of memos- _why so many? I was only gone for a day_!-and papers awaiting his signature. He was eager to see Merlin, but at the same time he hesitated to go downstairs to the Conservation Studios to seek him out. As little as he wanted to admit it to himself, he was nervous. Making love with Merlin Emrys in a California hotel room was one thing, facing him at work was quite another. He had never done this before, had never initiated or pursued a relationship with a co-worker. The closest he had come to something along those lines had been Vivian, about a year earlier. She had been a secretary at the Institute, blonde, outgoing, very attractive. She had flirted with Arthur and he had flirted back, but something had stopped him from going any further, although that was clearly what she had had in mind. When their flirtation had not progressed, she had resigned from her position, leaving Arthur with mixed feelings of relief and faint regret. It was not as if he and Viv had had anything in common, far from it! Their attraction had been superficial and purely physical, nothing more.

But Merlin was an entirely different story.

With him, it was not a case of simple, run of the mill lust. One the one hand, yes, he wanted Merlin in his bed and in his arms, but that wasn't all that drew him. There was his wide, boyish grin, the clear eyed obstinacy, the endearing awkwardness, his odd, angular beauty, his refusal to say much, if anything, about himself. Then there was Merlin the conservator, with what everyone called his magic touch, his scholarly and mechanical knowledge, but also his impish ability to laugh at himself, and at Arthur. So many things rolled up in one person.

The staccato click of a pair of high heels put an end to his musings. Arthur raised his eyes with trepidation and there was Morgana standing in front of his desk, a sheaf of papers in one hand, her eyes alight with a lively curiosity and an alarming degree of conjecture.

"Well, Arthur?" Morgana asked, tapping one foot impatiently. "How was your whirlwind trip?"

"How's your strep throat?" Arthur replied drily. "That must have been the most rapid recovery in history."

"Oh, it wasn't strep after all," Morgana said briskly. "I went to the doctor and the test was negative. Nothing more than a cold. A nuisance, but nothing worse. Oh, did you know Merlin has a cold? Just a little one, but still-"

"Yes, I know, he was sneezing yesterday on the flight back," her stepbrother responded, not quite meeting her eyes. "Staff meeting today, at eleven, isn't that right?"

"Yes, you know it is," said Morgana impatiently. "Now, how was the opening in Santa Barbara?"

"It was fine," Arthur muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "Nimueh was there, but that didn't matter, there were plenty of other people. The exhibition looks nice; the Santa Barbara people were grateful for the loan. And they were very pleased with Merlin."

"So I should think," Morgana snapped. "He said everyone there was quite lovely to him. And that he was surprised to see you in my place." Then she smiled with some secret amusement. "The hotel gave you my room, I suppose. And did you and Merlin enjoy the dinner?"

"Yes, yes," Arthur said, impatient in his turn. "Now, what's that you have for me?"

Morgana dropped the files of paper on his desk. "Last month's public attendance record. Copies of my correspondence with the Metropolitan about that manuscript they're borrowing later. They've pushed that exhibition back until later this winter. Gaius' latest condition reports on all of our pre-sixteenth century manuscripts. Oh, and Merlin's report from Santa Barbara. I was downstairs talking with him earlier."

"Thanks," mumbled the Assistant Director, shuffling the papers as though he wished they would disappear. "I don't suppose I missed much. And for pity's sake stop staring at me!"

"Why Arthur," Morgana said so sweetly that he winced. "You're blushing!"

"That's not like you," she added when he gave her a sharp glance.

"Morgs, please!" Arthur shouted, at the end of his tether. "Whatever it is you're insinuating, stop it! Or wait until after the staff meeting at least. I know there's only a three hour time difference, but I'm still a bit jet lagged."

Morgana instantly became very maternal.

"Oh, you poor thing," she murmured with what sounded like solicitude but Arthur knew very well was not. "I'll see you at eleven then."

As she exited she delivered a parting shot over her shoulder. "Merlin's blushing as well."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Merlin was wearing his horn rimmed glasses and going over his notes on a twelfth-century psalter in the Paper Conservation studio when Will made his appearance. Gaius was on the other side of the room, but well out of hearing, and Will seated himself on a stool opposite his friend, an inquiring look on his face.

"Leon told me you'd come in early," he said for openers. "So, how was California?"

"Still there," replied Merlin. "Hasn't fallen into the ocean just yet. Santa Barbara was nice. The museum people were great. The weather was perfect."

"It peed with rain here yesterday."

"It's colder than when I left."

"And the exhibition?"

"Excellent. The installation went well."

"Funny Arthur showing up instead of Morgana. Well, she said she was ill, but here she is today, right as rain."

"So?"

"If I were the suspicious type, I'd say it was some sort of family conspiracy," replied Will, chuckling, but Merlin could tell he wasn't genuinely amused.

"What, a conspiracy to get Arthur out of the office so you could all run riot and party?"

Will rolled his eyes.

"Merlin, you _are_ thick today!"

"Will," Merlin said firmly, waving a photograph in his face. "Don't you want the details on the sculpture we just sent to California? You're the Objects Conservator around here."

Will accepted the papers Merlin thrust into his hands. "Thanks." Then, "So...the Pendragon didn't make a move on you, then?"

Merlin shot Will an exasperated look. "You told me yourself he doesn't do that with employees."

"Just asking."

"Merlin!" Gaius called from across the room. "Don't forget we have a staff meeting in an hour. Oh, and thank you for the See's candies. I suppose my teeth will survive them?"

"The hotel people said they're famous."

"I'll bet you didn't bring anything for me, you git," Will said under his breath and Merlin laughed, happy for a change of subject.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As he gathered his papers for the staff meeting, Merlin acknowledged to himself that he was apprehensive about being face to face with Arthur in the presence of the rest of the staff. He had not gone upstairs to the lounge for ten o'clock break, and had, in fact, avoided going upstairs at all. The memory of Monday night and Tuesday morning was still fresh in his mind, and he had no idea what the Assistant Director was thinking. Arthur had been so passionate and tender with him-Merlin recalled quite clearly the warmth of his hands, and the sureness and confidence of his touch, which were no doubt born of years of experience, or to put it another way, practical application. Apart from Merlin's university romance with Freya, his brief relationships, before and after, had been akin to study dates with serious, scholarly young women whose interests were close to his own. Any intimacy that resulted from those "study dates" had often been secondary to their intellectual connection. He was not inexperienced, but he had nothing like the finely honed sexual skills of Arthur Pendragon.

His breathing quickened just thinking about these things, and he turned away from Will, hoping that his friend had noticed nothing.

Gwen put her head through the door, a look of mild frustration on her face that changed to a smile at the sight of Merlin.

"Oh Merlin, it's good to see you back. Aren't you three coming to the meeting? Afterwards, I need to ask all of you about a problem I'm having with the gold thread in that embroidered mantle. If anything can drive me to drink, that will."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They held the staff meeting in Arthur's office, promptly at eleven. Merlin was five minutes late.

"I apologize," he said from the doorway. "I had to take a call from the off-site laboratory, about the argon treatment of our bug-infested Madonna and Child."

"Ugh!" said Gwen and Morgana simultaneously.

"Good morning, Arthur," Merlin said quietly, slipping past the Assistant Director's right shoulder as he made his way to his usual place on the sofa between Gwen and Will.

"Good morning, Merlin," Arthur replied shortly, but he smiled as he spoke and the young conservator's eyelids fluttered involuntarily.

Turning away from Morgana's scrutiny, Arthur opened the meeting with a three minute report on the opening in Santa Barbara, and then asked Merlin to deliver his (longer) comments on the exhibition conditions there. This having been taken care of, they moved on to issues of loans and possible future purchases, an announcement from the Gift Shop that the new reproductions seemed to be selling well, and an email to Morgana from Uther, stating that he would be in town for a few days over the winter holidays.

Morgana read the email aloud, and nearly every person in the room suddenly looked decidedly downcast.

"On that note," Arthur said, grasping for a way to cheer everybody up, "I think we had better end before depression overcomes us."

This remark, delivered in a comically ominous tone, made the staff members laugh, and the meeting broke up in time for an early lunch. As people stood up, gathering their notes and papers, Arthur made his way over to Merlin.

"How's your cold?"

"Oh-much better, thanks."

Arthur lowered his voice. "Are you busy on Friday? After work?"

"I-erm, no, I don't think so."

"Will you have dinner with me?"

"Arthur!" Morgana called from where she was talking with Gaius and Gwen. "Gaius needs to speak with you about Uther."

Her eyes were darting back and forth between Merlin and her stepbrother, and her crimson lips were curved in a wicked little grin.

"May the gods help us," groaned Arthur. "A holiday visit! This is going to be a nightmare." He met Merlin's eyes for a moment and said softly, "I'll ring you."

As it turned out, Arthur had to stay late that evening, as did Morgana, and it wasn't until after his dinner that Merlin received a hurried call from him. It was obvious that Morgana was not far away, and Arthur spoke quickly and quietly, but they agreed to have dinner on Friday in a small restaurant that Merlin knew to be both expensive and close to Arthur's flat.

Later that night, Merlin received a text message.

_Goodnight idiot xox A_

He squinted at the tiny screen before keying in a reply.

_Sleep well prat xox M_

* * *


	17. Guessing Games

"A few of us are going to Hengist's Grill after work," Will said to Merlin early Friday afternoon. "There's a regular crowd that goes there every now and then. I only join them when I have time, or when I'm not too sick to death of the sight of my fellow drones."

It was just past one o'clock and the two conservators, who had been working nonstop through the morning, were taking their lunch break at their usual hangout, the local Starbucks.

"That's a charitable way of describing us," Merlin said cheerfully. "As your fellow drones."

"Morgana usually goes, and Lance, and Gwen, sometimes Leon," Will continued. "And his lordship almost always goes. So we can sit you next to him if you like."

Merlin scowled. "Are you ever going to give that a rest, man? Hengist's Grill? What's that-beefburgers?"

"Oh, they have other things, I think, but yeah, mainly beefburgers and chips, and, you know, stuff like that."

Merlin made a face. "I can't go, Will, I have a previous-erm, I have an appointment."

"Really?" Will's eyebrows shot upward. "On a _Friday_ night?"

His friend nodded and reached for his espresso. For the past two days his contact with Arthur Pendragon had been purely professional. They passed each other in the halls and smiled. They exchanged work-related emails. They did not touch. But if they were in the same room, their eyes met often, and tonight was their promised meeting, at seven.

"I'll participate in your beefburger expedition some other time. But Mr Hengist had better have something on his grill that I can eat."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The remainder of Friday afternoon was quiet and uneventful; even the public seemed sluggish, trickling into the Institute in small numbers and then wandering briefly through the galleries before making a beeline for the Gift Shop. When, shortly after five o'clock, Morgana and Gwen waited on the front steps for Lance, they were almost gasping with relief at the coming weekend.

"Who's coming tonight?" Gwen asked, checking her makeup in a powder compact mirror. "Lance said he asked Will."

"Oh, the usual suspects," replied Morgana, applying lipstick with a generous hand. "Leon said he would come. Even Gaius said he might join us. I couldn't find Arthur, so I left a note on his desk, but I'm sure he'll be here."

"It looks like rain," Lance called out as he emerged from the Institute's front door. "Let's go on to the Grill, the others can catch up."

The sky was indeed rather threatening, so the little group hurried east in the direction of Hengist's Grill. By the time they arrived it had begun to rain heavily, and Morgana hissed with displeasure as she shook droplets from her heavy mane of dark hair. They took possession of their usual table and ordered their food, at which time Gaius, Will, and Leon finally made their appearance, dripping wet.

"God, what weather!" muttered Leon, taking a seat next to Morgana. "And it was so beautiful yesterday!"

"Where are those bloody burgers?" Will asked, thumping the table. "We should have your engagement party here, Lance, when you two finally make up your minds to do the right thing and make an honest woman of Gwen."

Everyone burst out laughing, Gwen's cafe-au-lait complexion went pink, and Lance rolled his eyes histrionically.

"Merlin couldn't join us?" Leon asked, looking around the table. "I know this really isn't his idea of food, but-"

"Oh, he has an appointment this evening," Will muttered. "At seven. On a Friday, can you imagine? He told me he'd be happy to come along some other time. We can feed him pretzels."

"Well, where the hell is Arthur?" Lance asked, frowning. "He's usually one of the first ones here. Don't tell me he's working late. Uther didn't send him special orders, did he?"

"I left him a note," Morgana said hastily. "I'm sure he's on his-"

"Oh-Arthur! I saw him half an hour ago," Gaius interjected. Then he paused, as if just realizing the significance of what he was about to say, and wondering whether or not he should say it. His eyebrows appeared to be competing with each other in the high jump, but he hesitated only for a moment before continuing.

"He said...well he said he has an appointment this evening. At seven."

Morgana dropped her fork with a clatter, Will's mouth opened in a horrified but silent "Oh!" and then there was silence as the senior staff of the Pendragon Institute exchanged glances around the table.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Merlin was late, as usual.

Feeling a bit grubby after a day of sweating over a problematic manuscript, he had left work fifteen minutes early, run home to shower and change into something less casual than the Gap tee shirt he had worn that day, and raced from home to the restaurant on a treelined street in Arthur's neighborhood. It was fifteen past seven, and as he paused to wait for the maitre d', he hoped this wasn't one of those places that refused to admit you unless you were wearing a jacket and tie.

Fortunately, in spite of the elegantly clad waiters, tall white candles, and white tablecloths, the dress code for patrons did not appear to be too demanding. Merlin was shown to a table towards the back of the room where Arthur sat waiting for him, patently ignoring the female glances being cast in his direction. He had also changed into something other than his office clothes, in his case a pair of jeans and a dark blue silk shirt. As Merlin approached he looked up from the magazine he had been leafing through, blond hair shot through with copper from the candleshine, and gestured to him to be seated.

"It's alright, _Mer_ lin" he said wryly before Merlin could speak. "I wasn't expecting you to be on time."

"That's good," said Merlin.

"And why is that?" asked the Assistant Director, one eyebrow only slightly elevated.

"It shows that you already know the sort of person you're getting," Merlin said without thinking, and then turned quite red. But Arthur only laughed, and then threw his linen serviette at him. Merlin threw it back. The maitre d' surveyed this schoolboy brand of horseplay with an air of weary superiority.

The menu was in French, in which both were only semi-proficient, but they slogged their way heroically through the list of starters, salads, and main courses, before ordering what they hoped would be a small and simple meal.

"Haven't you eaten here before?" Merlin asked after two enormous dishes were deposited in front of them.

"No," said Arthur, shrugging as he prodded his fillet of sole with his fork. "I suggested it because it's conveniently located."

"Conveniently located?"

"Well, it's only two blocks from..." he sighed and left the sentence unfinished, returning his glance to the meal. "Perhaps the waiter thought we looked in need of massive caloric intake. Which is certainly true in your case."

They ate in silence for a while, and drank cold white wine, raising their eyes occasionally to look at one another.

Finally Merlin smiled, a charming little bitten-in grin. "This is like a scene from a movie," he said quietly. "You know, the first date and all that. They don't know what to say to each other. They don't know where to go after dinner. One of them wants to leap into bed, the other is scared of the whole thing. They can't decide what to do first."

"Which one are you?"

"Erm..."

"What do you want to do first?"

Merlin swallowed and looked down at his plate of roasted vegetables. He looked grave and almost absurdly young, his hair slightly ruffled, his face like ivory. In the candlelight of the room, his eyes were midnight blue. After a moment he put his fork down and said in a barely audible voice, "I don't think I can eat another bite. It's delicious, but..."

"Come on then," said Arthur, standing up. Minutes later, the bill having been paid with Arthur's American Express card, they abandoned the table, still laden with two-thirds of their overpriced meal, and headed out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arthur's fingers gently traced the rim of Merlin's ear whilst his lips traveled the length of his jawline to his chin, before fitting themselves over Merlin's mouth.

Arthur's body was pressing him back against the refrigerator door, and even in a situation in which cogent thinking was becoming impossible, Merlin realized that they fit together perfectly, almost as if they had been made with such a thing in mind. Exactly how they had gotten from the front door to the kitchen was becoming somewhat vague, but there they were, and it really didn't seem to matter what room they were in.

He was not submissive by nature, but when Arthur kissed him like that, his instinct was to submit. His head fell back-at least as far as it could against the refrigerator door-and he tilted his chin to give Arthur access to his throat. As Arthur nibbled along his neck, stopping every now and then to apply teeth and tongue very softly, he felt his knees begin to give way and he clung frantically to Arthur's shoulder blades as his vision blurred just a little.

The part of his mind that could still think was slightly embarrassed by the sounds that were coming from his own mouth.

"Arthur...I'm going to, erm...I don't want to, uh, fall over."

Arthur slid both arms around him and held him upright.

"I won't let you fall," he whispered, and then stepped back just enough to allow Merlin to steady himself on his feet. Then one hand lightly encircled Merlin's thin wrist and pulled. Catching his breath, Merlin followed him from the bright, fluorescent light of the kitchen into the darkness of the bedroom at the other end of the hall.


	18. Valiant

Arthur bunched the pillows behind his head and stretched.

"I don't think I've ever ordered a pizza delivery at midnight before."

"We should have brought our fancy French leftovers home," Merlin sighed, staring at the ceiling. "But the pizza was great."

"Except that there are now _crumbs_ in my bed," said Arthur, frowning. "And I don't think I've ever eaten such a _plain_ pizza. No sausage, no pepperoni, _niente_."

Merlin gave a little laugh. "Are you saying you were disappointed in the pizza, and it's my fault, and now I have to make it up to you?"

"I had no idea you were so insatiable," Arthur murmered, squinting a little in the morning light as he turned on his side to scrutinize his bed companion.

"Me, insatiable? Who was it who wanted to...again...after the pizza?"

Arthur took one of Merlin's hands in his and studied it. His own hands were large, well-shaped, capable, and strong. Merlin's hand was about the same in length but narrower, smaller boned, the fingers long and slim and adept for the fine work of inspecting, cleaning, and treating a two or three dimensional work of art. And, ahem, clearly adept at other things as well.

"Are you practicing to be a fortune teller?" Merlin joked.

"Don't be impudent," Arthur admonished him. He transferred his grip from Merlin's hand to his wrist, and tugged gently, turning over onto his back so that Merlin's arm was across his chest, his head pillowed on Arthur's shoulder.

Their being together felt so right that he was astonished at himself. It had been a while, years even, since he had invested a great deal of emotion in his physical relationships. Yet here he was, with _one of his own employees_ , and the emotions being generated within him were not what he was used to. They were powerful. He felt intensely possessive (he's _mine_ ), protective (gods, he looks so fragile), tender, amorous. It wasn't just the sex (wonderful as that was). He enjoyed Merlin's company. He enjoyed their banter, which ran the gamut from playful and silly to rather barbed and caustic. Even though they seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time in bed--in fact, they hadn't yet been properly out of bed, and it was nearly noon on Saturday--he knew that he would feel quite at ease with Merlin when they eventually decided to get up, get dressed, and do something other than grapple in each other's arms.

"Don't you think we should have breakfast?" came Merlin's slightly muffled voice.

"Breakfast? We should have lunch, idiot," said Arthur briskly, all the while wondering if there was anything in his refrigerator.

"If you weren't such a prat," Merlin replied into Arthur's shoulder, "you would have thought about giving me breakfast hours ago."

Arthur, who was mentally tallying up the contents of his kitchen cabinets, made no reply, simply running his fingers repeatedly through the soft, dark hair on the nape of Merlin's neck.

"We could make something here, if you don't want to go out," Merlin yawned, eyes closed. "What do you know how to cook?"

"I can boil water," replied Arthur stiffly. "My one culinary accomplishment. But I'm very good at ordering food from the local deli."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They spent the rest of the weekend together.

Arthur was quite right. Once they managed to get out of bed, everything was quite comfortable between them, with no awkwardness. Unless, of course, you counted Merlin's habitual awkwardness, which manifested itself in Arthur's flat much as it did everywhere outside of the Conservation studios. People at the Institute had become used to the peculiar dichotomy of Merlin inside the studio-sure handed, careful, working with all the precision of a scientist-and Merlin outside of it, dropping pens and pencils, walking into furniture, entering people's offices without knocking, and absent-mindedly putting coffee in the teapot during morning break.

"I fear for the safety of my kitchen appliances," Arthur murmured, remembering the burning toast in Merlin's battered toaster.

Merlin lowered his head and looked up at Arthur through his eyelashes without speaking, causing his host to wonder whether he shouldn't simply drag Merlin back into the bedroom.

They did go outside, briefly, on Saturday evening, to buy the newspaper and some odds and ends of groceries. Back in Arthur's modern (and essentially unused) stainless steel and polished-granite kitchen, Merlin concocted a peculiar looking vegetable stew, which, contrary to Arthur's expectations, tasted quite good. Arthur, who had admitted to his utter uselessness in the cooking department, sat at the kitchen table and watched him. After dinner they did the washing up, watched the evening news and went to bed.

On Sunday morning--by which time they were well and truly exhausted--they sat up and did a little negotiating.

It was decided that they would try to spend weekends together, whenever possible. For the sake of their sanity, and to avoid rushing into anything, they would spend only one night together during the work week, probably Wednesday. For the time being, they would tell no one, although both sensed that it was going to be difficult to keep the truth from Morgana.

"I'd better get home and get ready for the week," Merlin said late Sunday afternoon. "And I can't go to work wearing your clothes."

He was, in fact, wearing one of Arthur's sweatshirts. It was too big for him, and when the neckline shifted, Arthur could see the mark of one of his impromptu love bites on the milky skin of Merlin's throat just above his collarbone, as clear as a neon sign on a Broadway theatre.

"You may need to wear a turtleneck tomorrow," he mumbled, almost apologetically.

"I haven't got any turtlenecks," Merlin said, looking wide eyed into the nearest mirror. "But I'll figure something out."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back in his own small flat, Merlin sorted out his clothing for Monday. Digging into a pile of clean laundry, not yet folded, from the previous week, he came up with two large cotton squares, one red, one grayish blue, remnants of his university days. Folding the red one into a triangle, he draped it around his neck, effectively hiding the telltale mark.

He looked in the mirror. It wasn't bad. It would have to do.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm," Leon said to Merlin as they passed each other in the entryway at nine o'clock, Monday morning.

Merlin gave him a questioning look.

"Good weekend, Merlin?" Leon called over his shoulder, but his smile and voice were friendly and Merlin was not offended. He knew that sooner or later people would guess, or suspect, but he wasn't going to do anything to encourage either. He sighed as he saw Leon's eyes go to his neckscarf.

"Gaius is waiting for you downstairs," Leon went on, walking backwards until he and Merlin were level. "He has some issues with Santa Barbara's loan forms. It looks as though none of you lot read the fine print very carefully. They say nothing about humidity levels, so he says. Anyway, he's waiting."

"Okay, thanks," Merlin replied, girding himself to face a cranky Gaius. He and Will were doubtless going to be on the receiving end of a lecture for _not having read the bloody fine print_.

"Gaius the whistleblower," Leon added in a stage whisper as he continued up the hall, leaving Merlin more than a little puzzled.

Gaius the whistleblower?

As he walked through the door of the Paper Conservation studio he noticed Gaius, glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose, reading over some papers spread out on one of the tables. He looked up and gave a shamefaced grin as Merlin approached, shoving the papers in his direction.

So...why the smile? Wasn't he meant to be angry?

Will came in from next door at that moment, and Gaius gestured at him to look the the same bundle of papers.

"Morning, Will," Merlin said cheerfully.

"Morning," Will replied gruffly, not meeting Merlin's eyes. "Had a nice weekend, did you?"

It was obvious that Will was in a rotten mood.

"Merlin," said Gaius quietly as he walked past. "When we're done with these forms, I'd like to have a word. In my office, before lunch."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arthur was reading over emails from his father when Morgana made her first assault.

He looked up from his desk to find her standing in front of it, smiling at him. Her smile was friendly, but also a little unnerving.

"If I wait long enough I suppose you'll tell me," Arthur snapped after half a minute of silence.

"Honestly, Arthur," Morgana responded, sitting down in a chair opposite and looking, to Arthur's horror, as though she planned to stay there for a while. "If you wanted to keep things secret you should have had the wit to offer a different excuse last Friday. Two people with appointments on the same evening, at the same time?"

"Whatever it is you're talking about, I haven't a clue," Arthur said coldly. "And if you're referring to my private life, you already know how I feel about that."

"Yes, yes, you think it's off limits," said Morgana, tossing her hair. "But I've never known you to keep any of your amours a secret. Anyway, Gaius revealed that you had a seven o'clock appointment last Friday night, and somebody else we know had an appointment on the same day, at the same time, and so-"

"Coincidence," Arthur growled. "Perhaps this somebody else, whoever, had a doctor's appointment."

"Doctors never see anyone on a Friday evening," Morgana said patiently. "But if you're going to be difficult about this, I see I'm going to have to catch you in the act, so to speak. No, don't get angry, what I meant was I'm going to have to find some proof. I can't beat a confession out of you any more, dear stepbrother. Remember when we were little and I used to beat you at games?"

"It never happened," said Arthur. "Now why don't you run along and do some research on our new Sicilian fresco?"

"Gaius is examining it right now," Morgana replied. "I'll have to wait until he's finished to get my hands on it."

"Fine," muttered Arthur, remembering Merlin's hand on _him_.

"By the way," Morgana said rather suddenly as she turned to leave. "I actually stopped in the office on Saturday to get some notes I'd forgotten to bring home. Guess who I ran into in our galleries?"

"No guessing games, please," sighed Arthur. "Just tell me."

"Dr. Morgause Lothian, strolling about, as cool as you please!" Morgana snorted. "And she had someone with her."

"I thought you rather liked Morgause," Arthur said, looking up. "Unlike the rest of us."

"I do, really," Morgana replied. "I feel a certain kinship with her, so to speak. You know, another female curator in the same field. But I can't say I was impressed with her companion. A gentleman, if you'd care to call him that."

"You don't care to, apparently."

"The Metropolitan Museum's hired a new conservator for medieval art," Morgana went on, ignoring Arthurs' comment. "That's who it was. Morgause convinced them to hire him. He spoke graciously to me, paid me compliments. But I could tell they weren't sincere. And there's something a bit thuggish about him. He certainly looks like a thug. You'll meet him eventually, no doubt. His name's Valiant."


	19. Denial, Denial, Denial

"Merlin," Gaius said hesitatingly, once he and his young friend had left the Conservation Studios and were seated in the privacy of Gaius' office. "There's something I need to tell you."

For the past hour Gaius, Merlin, and Will had gone over the fine print on the Santa Barbara loan forms, until everything was figured out to Gaius' satisfaction. Will had barely spoken to Merlin, and the corners of his mouth had been turned downward in something approaching a scowl, but he had not excused himself from their usual lunchtime outing. (Merlin supposed he would hear whatever it was Will was displeased about, when they went to Starbucks.) He had pretended not to notice Will's bad mood and Gaius' strange nervousness, and once their discussion was over he had followed his elderly supervisor upstairs. Gaius was rambling on about reports to be delivered at the next staff meeting, and Merlin was thinking about how beautiful Arthur looked in the shower, fair hair slicked back and darkened by the water, droplets trickling over his closed eyelids and full lips, his wonderfully sculpted shoulders, chest, and abs, and his wonderfully sculpted everything else.

He was shaken out of his reverie by Gaius, who plunked a mug of his famously coal-black coffee on the desk between them.

"Is that for me?" Merlin asked with his eyebrows raised in an attempt to imitate the senior conservator. "Do I look like I need it?"

"As a matter of fact, you do," Gaius replied, unimpressed by the imitation. "Now Merlin, I'm not going to embarrass you by asking you how much sleep you didn't get this weekend. But I do have a small confession to make."

"Oh?" said Merlin, beginning to feel apprehensive.

"Oh." replied Gaius in a very dry voice. "I'm afraid I spilled the beans last Friday night. A group of us were at Hengist's Grill, and I let slip that Arthur had a seven o'clock appointment, and that's why he couldn't join us."

"Oh," said Merlin for the second time, but with relief. "Is that all? What's the problem then?"

"Will also made the announcement," Gaius went on, "that you couldn't join us because you had an appointment. At seven o'clock. Needless to say, there was a fair amount of speculation after all that."

So that was what Leon had been hinting at!

"Honestly," Merlin muttered, frowning. "The ridiculous _gossip_ that thrives in a small institution-you'd think people would be above that sort of thing. Is that why Will's so out of sorts?"

"No doubt," said Gaius, frowning in his turn. "Now I'm not going to ask you about any of this, as it's none of my business. But I thought it only fair that you know what people may be saying or thinking behind your back."

"Thanks," Merlin responded, taking an enormous gulp of Gaius' noxious brew, and then screwing up his face and coughing. "Now I'm not going to ask you how you make this coffee, as it's none of my business."

Gaius smiled. "That's my boy," he said, thumping a still coughing Merlin on the back. "A little levity is always a good thing."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Will's expression was still surly when lunchtime came round, and he and Merlin made their way to their usual table at Starbucks.

"For pity's sake, Will," Merlin muttered impatiently as they took their seats. "Why the sour face?"

"Listen, Merlin," Will replied, "the ' _I'm a clueless innocent_ ' face is all very charming and adorable, at least SOME people may find it adorable, but it won't work with me. I've known you forever. So you can just bloody drop it."

Merlin's half-smile vanished instantly.

"I _was_ quite clueless," he said in a noncommital voice. "Until Gaius told me what everyone thinks. Is _that_ why you're looking like you swallowed a sea urchin?"

"Very funny," his friend replied, not smiling. "I'm not going to call you a traitor, because that wouldn't be fair. But Merlin...taking up with an arrogant bastard like Arthur Pendragon...letting him fuck...I don't know what you think you're doing. Not just because he's a toff, but because--"

"Look, Will," said Merlin abruptly, interrupting. "I don't know what you think you know, but you're wrong. I told you I got on well with Arthur. I never said I was sleeping with him. And if I were, it would be none of your damn business."

"He's using you," Will said harshly. "If that's what's going on, he's using you, and you work for him for God's sake. It's like being a skivvy for a prince. He thinks he can do what he--"

"Will, shut up," Merlin said very calmly, although he felt anything but calm. "I'm serious. Shut up. Nobody's sleeping with anybody and nobody's using anybody." He felt a twinge of guilt for lying about something he would never have covered up under ordinary circumstances. Will's face was a picture of uncertainty, and Merlin was torn between the desire to laugh and the desire to tell him to sod off. "Now let's eat something, and change the subject before one of us says something he'll regret."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The remainder of the day was remarkably ordinary, apart from the fact that senior staff seemed to be giving Merlin surreptitious looks when he walked past them. After lunch, he escaped to the Textile Conservation studio, hoping Gwen had heard nothing of this gossip, but his hopes were dashed when Gwen turned bright red upon seeing him standing in the doorway.

"Oh! Merlin!" she exclaimed, and then, "Do come and have a look at the gold thread in this horrible knight's tunic. It's completely unravelling."

"Like my brain," said Merlin affably. "It's in shreds. I've been reading lines of fine print all morning, thanks to Gaius. Ah! You're right. It's a mess. D'you have a glass?"

The tunic, of the type meant to be worn over armor, was spread out on the worktable, the gold-embroidered dragon on its front looking very much the worse for wear.

Gwen handed a large magnifying glass to Merlin and watched as he peered through it at the unravelling gold thread. A part of her was thinking that if they ever were to go public (which they probably wouldn't), there couldn't possibly be a more striking looking couple than Merlin and the Assistant Director. Another part of her was simply wondering what the two of them were like in bed together.

"That _IS_ a problem," Merlin sighed as he put the glass down. "How are you planning to treat it?"

"I"m not sure, just yet," Gwen replied, looking mournful. "By the way, have you heard that the Metropolitan just hired a new conservator? His name's Valiant, and I've never heard of him before. Morgana says she has no idea where he's come from."

At that moment, Lance put his head through the door. "Gwen, I was just going to show-oh, _Merlin_! I didn't know you were up here. Gwen, I was just, uh, going to show, erm, Arthur the tunic you're working on, to see if we could display it over the chain mail in Gallery Three when you've finished with it."

He stepped through the door, followed by the Assistant Director. The eyes of all three went instantly to Merlin, who miraculously managed not to blush. He assumed his clueless look for Arthur's benefit and stepped back from the worktable.

"The gold thread's a nightmare, Arthur," he said, looking to Gwen to continue, but she said nothing so he went on. "The metal strips are unwinding from the silk core, and the silk is starting to show through quite a lot."

"Really," said Arthur, frowning, as he held out his hand for the magnifying glass. Merlin passed it to him, being careful to hold it in such a way that their fingers did not touch.

"Sorry, Gwen," he murmured as Arthur stared at the textile. "Didn't mean to interrupt your work. I'll just run down to the...to see Gaius, erm..."

It was not the most graceful of exits, but the best he could manage with Gwen and Lance both staring at him.

Arthur put down the magnifying glass. "I suppose it'll be some time then, before it's ready," he said to Gwen, but both she and Lance noted how his eyes followed Merlin to the door.

Lance nudged Gwen with his elbow and whispered, "He _has_ got it bad."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The following day, Tuesday, was slow. There were no meetings, no visits by scholars from other institutions, no surprise phonecalls or emails from Uther. That morning, almost as though to reassure the rest of the staff that nothing had changed and everything was going according to routine, Arthur and Merlin had a genuine and very loud argument about whether or not to display the new Sicilian fresco behind plexiglass. As they were standing in the middle of Gallery One, nearly everyone on staff soon became aware that the Assistant Director and his young conservator were behaving very much the way they always had.

"We have a guard on duty in this room at all times," Arthur insisted at the top of his voice. "It'll be safe enough. With plexiglass you have reflection and glare, you can't see the details properly. We can put a guard rope in front of the piece, if you're so bloody worried about it."

"Do you realize how fragile that thing is?" Merlin shouted, eyes blazing, running one hand through his hair distractedly. "Just one flick of a child's finger and the surface could be damaged. I'd rather put up with reflections on the plexi, thank you very much."

"One of these days we'll have to send you both to anger management seminars," Morgana commented as she strolled through the gallery, much to the amusement of the watching museum-goers.

"We'll discuss it at staff meeting tomorrow," Arthur snarled as he strode out of the room. Merlin, tight lipped, and pale as a ghost but for the pink flush on his high cheekbones, stalked off in the opposite direction.

Five minutes later, Merlin received a phonecall in his office.

"That was classic," said Arthur's disembodied voice, and Merlin grinned in spite of himself. "Of course I meant every word I said."

"So did I, you prat," Merlin replied, on the verge of laughter. "I'm afraid it's an issue on which we'll never agree. But you should have seen yourself. You were quite a spectacle."

"I, a spectacle?" growled Arthur. "Idiot! _YOU_ looked like something out of a Japanese anime. All lanky and pretty and pouting, with black, spiky hair and wide eyes."

"I don't pout," Merlin protested. "And I still think you're wrong about the plexiglass."

"That's cool," Arthur said. "Save it for the meeting, okay?"

"Are we really going to discuss this at the staff meeting?" sighed Merlin, who had been dismayed by the epic level of his own awkwardness and forgetfulness that day. He had left his office keys at home, knocked over his desk chair, and spilled tea on Gaius' correspondence with another museum. "I don't think I can handle two screaming matches in forty-eight hours."

"Of course you can," Arthur said smugly. "But it won't change my opinion; I'm just as stubborn as you are."

"No need to remind me, your highness," said Merlin. "I probably shouldn't even bother to contradict you tomorrow."

"You're joking," Arthur responded. "Contradict me as much as you like. It's your right, and who knows. If we take a vote on it, you might even win."

"A vote? Did I hear you say vote?" mumbled Merlin. "Don't tell me this place is morphing from a monarchy to a democracy. I don't think my brain can adjust."

"Oh shut up, Merlin," Arthur said cheerfully. "And you can shout at me as much as you want tomorrow, I think the staff enjoys it. It's at eleven o'clock as usual. Are we still on for tomorrow evening?"

The timbre of his voice had suddenly changed.

"I...yes, I..."

"I look forward to it," Arthur murmured, instantly serious.

There was an unexpected squawk from Merlin, and then, _"Oh bloody hell!"_

"Merlin?" Arthur said anxiously. "Are you alright?"

"Bugger!"

"Excuse me?" Arthur said, astonished.

"Of all the stupid...I left my wallet at home!"

He could hear Arthur's guffaw on the other end of the line.

"For heaven's sake, _Mer_ lin, you're a walking disaster today. I can lend you some lunch money."

"I'm not borrowing any money from you," Merlin said severely. "But I'll let you feel me up for ten dollars."

Arthur's jaw dropped, and then he heard Merlin snorting with laughter.

"And you call _me_ a prat?" he muttered. "If I didn't know better, _Mer_ lin, I'd say you've been at the sloe gin. Now I've got to get some work done. See you later."


	20. A Knock at the Door

Not surprisingly, given the suspicions that were running rife among the senior staff of the Pendragon Institute, every senior member showed up on time for the Wednesday staff meeting.

Rather than the usual expressions of "why-do-we-have-to-do-this," and general bleary-eyed disinterest, the Assistant Director noticed that everyone was quite bright-eyed, wide awake and attentive. Many steaming mugs of tea and coffee were already in evidence when he entered the room-they were holding the meeting in the library this time-and even old Geoffrey looked curious about whatever he was going to say.

As usual, Merlin was seated between Gwen and Will. His eyes were demurely fixed on the files in his lap, and he only raised them briefly when Arthur came in.

Itching with the desire to give his overly-curious staff a little payback, Arthur deliberately made his opening remarks as drawn out and boring as possible. Then he launched into a lengthy and tedious account of a loan request from a museum in Germany. As he droned away as dully and slowly as he knew how, he saw Merlin's lips quiver with amusement. Everyody else was staring at him in utter dismay, and he finally took pity on them and opened the floor to discussion of the plexiglass issue.

"As _Mer_ lin has expressed the belief that we need plexiglass in front of the new Sicilian fresco, I'm asking him to state his case before all of you, for your consideration."

Merlin was actually wiping tears of secret mirth from his eyes, but he straightened up and delivered his argument for the use of plexi to protect the fresco...without shouting. Arthur then presented his objection. Surprisingly, Morgana chimed in on Arthur's side, but as there were three other, very vocal conservators present-Gaius, Will, and Gwen-it began to look as though the rest of the staff would be swayed by their argument. To the amazement of everyone, Arthur put it to a vote. The pro-plexi side was victorious, but Merlin knew better than to gloat openly.

"And now you're going to veto that, are you not?" Morgana asked, eyeing her stepbrother with surprise.

"No, no I'm not," Arthur replied mildly, and to the astonishment of the entire room. "If all the conservators say we need plexi for that piece, I'll go along with it, much as I hate the idea."

He jotted down notes on his clipboard, secretly glancing at his colleagues every now and then through his eyelashes. He knew they had all been watching him, their glances shooting back and forth between him and his junior conservator, hoping to catch some indication of feelings between the two of them. He himself had remained calm and expressionless throughout the proceedings, whilst Merlin acted much the way he always did during staff meetings, fiddling with his pen, putting his glasses on to read over his papers, fidgeting in his seat from time to time. Satisfied that his staff could see nothing out of the ordinary in his or Merlin's behavior, Arthur turned his attention to other museum-related matters.

These other matters included his staff's curiosity about the neighboring Metropolitan Museum's recent hiring of the mysterious Valiant to work on paper conservation. Not one Pendragon staff member had ever heard of him, and Gaius announced that he would check on the man's credentials.

"I know what Valiant's credentials are," Morgana said in a very loud whisper. "At least, as far as Morgause is concerned. They're in his trousers."

"Must you be so vulgar?" her stepbrother asked, brows raised and eyes disapproving.

"Oh, excuuuuse me!" was her unrepentant response.

The final topic up for review had to do with new items to be sold in the Gift Shop. Everyone's favorite was a copy of a sixteenth-century Book of Hours. What they found most amusing, however, were the children's products under consideration. The selection they found truly bizarre was a package of shocking-pink candies shaped like dragons and castles, and everyone was given several to take home and taste-test. ("Ugh! They look poisonous!" said Morgana.) The final children's item to be examined, a relatively realistic broadsword, was Lance's favorite.

"It's about a third size of a real one, but it's nicely made-even if it's plastic," he said approvingly.

"Should we really be selling facsimiles of _weapons_?" Morgana asked in a critical tone of voice.

Merlin picked it up and wielded it experimentally.

"Boys love them," Lance continued enthusiastically. "Boys and toy swords go together like milk and cereal."

"I eat cereal without milk," said Merlin, still waving the plastic broadsword. "And just think of all the lawsuits if somebody's little darling hits his best friend over the head with one of our fake weapons."

"Cereal without milk?" asked Lance, astonished. "Why, Merlin?"

"I'm lactose intolerant," came the reply. "As for the swords, how many lawyers has the Institute got on retainer?"

"I can't imagine not being able to drink milk," exclaimed Lance, still flabbergasted.

"He's allergic to _everything_ , for Chrissake," Arthur interjected as he went past. "Put the sword down, _Mer_ lin, you look ridiculous."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was close to four o'clock when Merlin's office phone rang.

"Where would you like to have dinner?" asked Arthur without bothering to identify himself.

"Well, well," Merlin replied. "Isn't it fortunate I'm not allergic to _you_."

"Very," said Arthur quietly. "Dinner?"

"I...it doesn't matter. Wherever you'd like. We can even do pizza again."

"Aha," said Arthur. "But not in my bed, I'm still finding crumbs from last time."

"Who said anything about eating _something_ in your bed?" was the response. Arthur could hear the undercurrent of laughter.

"Okay," Arthur murmured, almost under his breath. "I'm going to go before this conversation becomes too X-rated. I'll meet you in front of the Italian bookstore at 5:15 if that works for you."

"Cool," said Merlin, and rang off.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Why so frantic, Merlin?" Gaius asked as he watched his young colleague shove his notes into haphazard piles and then struggle into his jacket. "It's only just five."

Merlin stuffed other papers into his slightly battered briefcase. Gaius noticed what appeared to be a change of clothing in the briefcase as well, and his eyebrows went wild, but he said nothing.

"Have an appointment, sorry," Merlin called over his shoulder as he headed for the front door of the Institute. Outside the air was chilly and damp, with a promise of rain. The Italian bookstore was nearly a ten minute walk from the Institute, and from there another five minutes to Arthur's flat. As he approached the shop it was already misting slightly, and he spotted Arthur peering through the window at an impressive display of art books, a furled umbrella swinging from one hand.

Arthur looked up and Merlin felt unaccountably shy. So he gestured at the window display and said the first thing that came into his head: "How's your Italian?"

"Even worse than my French," Arthur replied with a rueful grin. "But ordering pizza has never been a problem. Are you hungry?"

"Not terribly," Merlin answered, tugging self-consciously at his neck scarf and trying to read Arthur's expression. Their eyes met, and Merlin could see the hunger in Arthur's, that had nothing to do with food. So he said simply, "If you're not, I can wait until later."

The mist had turned into actual rain, and Arthur opened his umbrella and held it over both of them as they walked to his building. They spoke little; Merlin was particularly quiet, and Arthur teased him about not "talking rubbish as usual." Merlin gave him a charming smile, but at the back of his mind he was going over what Will had said to him earlier that week. He had never put much credence in gossip, and had never really listened to the stories that circulated about Arthur Pendragon's sexual conquests-and he was likewise determined not to pay any attention to Will's tirade. In spite of this, one compound thought kept recurring, as much as he tried to push it away. _For how long is he going to want you? When is he going to tire of you? What will he do then? What will YOU do then?_

At the door to the flat, Arthur fumbled with the keys whilst Merlin stood back, remembering the way they had gone through this door on the previous Friday, barely waiting until it was shut behind them before pulling each other into a rough embrace, staggering with passion, somehow making their way to the kitchen before finally coming to rest against the refrigerator.

The memory made him blush, and when Arthur got the door open he walked through and went several paces down the hall before stopping. There was no frantic grappling this time. Arthur put a hand lightly on his back and they walked the length of the hall to the sitting room, where Arthur took Merlin's jacket, removed his own, and then kissed him thoroughly but very gently before disappearing to put the jackets in the hall closet.

"Drink?" he asked as he came back into the room.

"Yes, please," Merlin whispered. Arthur vanished again, and then reappeared with two glasses.

"You're not cross with me about the plexi argument, I hope?" he asked, handing one glass to Merlin.

"Of course not," Merlin replied, getting his voice back. "We've only had about a thousand workplace arguments before."

"I thought it was an especially good one," Arthur said, grinning. "And you got your way in the end. Besides, haven't you heard about the joys of make up sex?"

"Erm?"

"Make up sex," Arthur repeated. "It's supposed to be the best. I mean, people have been using sex as a weapon or a reward since the dawn of time. I expect it was an important bargaining chip for cavemen, since they didn't have much else to bargain _with_."

"Cavemen," said Merlin with a smile. "I think you've got a point. Though they had things like arrowheads and animal skins to bargain with as well."

"Nah," said Arthur. "Who wants a silly arrowhead? I'm sure they much preferred to go for make up sex."

"M-maybe," Merlin stammered. He put his drink down and raised his eyes to Arthur's. "It was...good of you to open the plexi issue to a vote. Thanks."

"The outcome was annoying," Arthur murmured. "But much as I hate to admit it, I can't be right all the time."

He put out a hand and stroked the side of Merlin's face before running it down along his neck to the buttons of his shirt.

"So," said Merlin dreamily, eyes half closed, "are we going to have make up sex?"

"No," Arthur replied. "We're going to have caveman sex."

He seized Merlin under the arms and dragged him, laughing and half-protesting, into the bedroom.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Merlin woke with a start to find that it was nearly nine o'clock. The room was warm and the sheets and blankets were in a heap at the foot of the bed. Arthur had turned on the bedside lamp, angling the shade so that the light wasn't shining in Merlin's face, and he was perusing a take-out menu from the local pizza restaurant.

"You're hungry," said Merlin, stating the obvious.

"I think we should order an extra large pizza at the very least," Arthur replied, yawning and brandishing the pizza menu. Merlin looked at him with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

"You're too good-looking for your own good, Pendragon," he said almost accusingly.

"Shut up, Emrys," Arthur said affectionately, rumpling Merlin's hair with his free hand. "You happen to be rather beautiful, but you could use a lot of carbohydrates. Quite frankly, three giant pizzas wouldn't do you any harm, but I know you won't eat them, so I'm ordering just one."

A moment later he was out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans, pushing his tousled blond hair back from his forehead, and heading for the kitchen. Merlin followed more slowly, and found Arthur on the phone with the pizza delivery people, at the same time hunting for his wallet by emptying his jacket pockets onto the kitchen table. The wallet and keys were joined on the table by an assortment of coins, a subway card, and the package of shocking-pink dragon and castle candies from the Institute's staff meeting.

"We're supposed to taste-test those, aren't we?" Merlin asked, wondering where he had put his own.

"I'm afraid so," grimaced Arthur, setting down the phone, shoving his wallet into the pocket of his jeans, and popping one of the pink dragons into his mouth. "I don't know how children can eat these," he added, enunciating with difficulty. "They taste like cough syrup."

Merlin chuckled as Arthur swallowed the candy with an effort. "You'd be amazed at what kids will eat. Don't you know any children?"

"There's Morgana's little brother, my half-brother, Mordred. But he's not your average child. He eats things like artichokes and fois gras, and studies advanced physics at school."

"Really?" asked Merlin, fascinated. Arthur so seldom spoke of his family that this piece of information astonished him.

Arthur wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked dubiously at the remainder of the candies. "I've had _all sorts of things_ in my mouth lately, God knows," he murmured, looking at Merlin out of the corner of his eye. "But these dragony sweets don't rank high on my list of favorites."

Merlin had turned slightly crimson. "How long until the pizza gets here?"

"Fifteen minutes," Arthur responded, hunting in a cabinet for paper serviettes. "What'll you have to drink? There's a lager in the fridge. And if you can find a couple of plates that would be helpful."

"Don't you know where anything is in your own kitchen?" Merlin asked wryly, but after some searching he managed to locate a pair of very elegant porcelain plates on a shelf next to the sink.

There was a loud rap on the door, and Arthur looked up.

"That was quick," he said, heading down the hallway towards the front door, barefoot and shirtless. "I hope the pizza isn't underbaked. There's nothing worse than a soggy crust."

He pulled his wallet out of his jeans pocket and opened the door.

"Arthur."

It wasn't the pizza delivery man after all. Standing in the doorway, blinking at the sight of her half-dressed stepbrother, was Morgana.


	21. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Arthur stared blankly at his stepsister. Morgana stared back.

Her eyes took in the fact that he was shirtless, clad only in a pair of jeans, and barefoot, that his hair was uncombed, and that he was holding his wallet in one hand.

"You're not the pizza delivery guy," Arthur blurted out in complete surprise.

"Arthur, what? You're waiting for a pizza at this hour?" Morgana blurted back. "I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd bring you this." She held up a paper bag from which the scent of Chinese food was wafting. "I had dinner out with...um, and, well, I thought-"

"You're bringing me your _leftovers_?" Arthur managed to say, but Morgana pushed past him and began marching down the hall to the kitchen, her high heels tapping smartly on the polished wood floor.

"I'll just put this in your kitchen and be on my way," she called over her shoulder before Arthur could protest. "You ungrateful wretch, you could at least say thank-"

There was a sudden shriek from Morgana, and a tremendous crash.

Arthur sped grimly down the hall, only to find one of his porcelain plates in pieces on the kitchen floor, with Morgana and Merlin staring down at it in dismay. It was quite clear that they had collided in the middle of the room, and Merlin's face had gone paler than usual with shock. Morgana raised her eyes first, saw his unbuttoned shirt and generally dishevelled state, and put both hands up to her mouth.

"Oh--I'm sorry, Merlin," was all she could manage to say. "I didn't hurt you?"

Arthur was white with temper.

"Morgana," he said in a glacial voice. "What the f--what, exactly, are you doing here?"

For once, Morgana seemed at a complete loss for words. "Arthur, I-"

"You have your mobile, don't you?" he continued with quiet fury. "You could have had the decency to ring me."

"Arthur, it's alright," Merlin whispered. Arthur ignored him.

"All this innuendo, and now this _spying_ ," he hissed. "I'd really like to wring your neck!"

"Just try it," Morgana replied, getting a little of her spirit back. "I honestly wasn't spying. I had no idea that Mer-that you had company. I went to your favorite Chinese restaurant with, um, and I thought I'd be kind and bring you the leftovers because you love sauteed vegetables with sesame sauce."

"And who's Mr Um?" Arthur snapped, putting one hand to the bridge of his nose in a gesture of frustration. "There's no reason for you to keep secrets from _me_ at this point."

Morgana stared at the floor. "I had dinner with Leon, not that it's any of your business," she muttered. "And I _am_ sorry, and I wasn't spying."

"You've been nattering away about my private life for weeks, and now this!"

Morgana's lower lip quivered mournfully.

Arthur glared at the bits of porcelain littering the floor. "And Morgana, that was nineteenth-century _Dresden_ , for fuck's sake."

"It's alright," Merlin said quickly. "I can mend it, you know I can. You won't even know it was ever broken."

"It's the 'court dragon' pattern," Arthur said, suddenly losing steam. "It was my _mother's_."

Morgana actually looked stricken. She put out a hand and touched Arthur tentatively on the arm.

"I'm really and truly sorry, Arthur, I am."

The achingly uncomfortable moment was broken by a muffled thump on the front door.

"It must be the pizza delivery," babbled Merlin with relief. "I'll get it, shall I?"

Arthur silently handed over his wallet and Merlin raced down the hall, leaving the step-siblings face to face.

"Fifteen years ago I would have given you a good thrashing," Arthur said with a lopsided smile, looking Morgana in the eyes. "I'll forgive you, only because Merlin says he can mend the bloody thing."

"I suppose I would deserve it this time," she answered in a subdued voice. "But Arthur--I really do think it's lovely that you and M-Merlin--"

"Not another word," Arthur said warningly.

Morgana knelt down and began picking up bits and pieces of porcelain. Arthur handed her a plastic bag and she put the pieces inside.

"This pizza's massive," Merlin said, appearing with a large, flat box that he was holding gingerly by the edges. He set it down on the kitchen table and peered into the plastic bag of ceramic shards. "Are you sure you got every piece?" His eyes raked the floor, then he bent and captured a long sliver between thumb and forefinger.

"Arthur," Morgana murmured again. "I am really, _really_ sorry! And Merlin..."

Arthur and Merlin exchanged glances.

Arthur took a deep breath and gritted his teeth.

"Morgana," he said heavily. "Would you like to share some pizza with us?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ten minutes later, they were seated around the living room coffee table with slices of pizza on paper plates, a large bowl of re-heated sauteed Chinese vegetables, and three glasses of water with ice cubes.

Morgana had regained a little of her insouciance and was looking brightly from her stepbrother to his conservator, her eyes sparkling with obvious pleasure.

"You can't imagine how gorgeous you two look together," she said happily. "You're perfect foils, physically."

Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, whilst Merlin simply ducked his head in embarrassment.

"I'm not admitting to anything," Arthur stated flatly. "And neither is Merlin."

"You needn't worry," she continued, as though she hadn't heard. "I'll not say a word to anyone at work."

"You'd better not," Arthur said sternly. "Not even to lover boy."

"Lover boy?"

"Leon."

"Arthur, Leon's not my lover," Morgana said indignantly. "Although that's a nice thought; I wouldn't mind. But no, I won't breath a word to him, or anybody else. And certainly not to Uther."

Arthur let out an explosive breath. "If you ever...if you dared...I'd give you exactly five minutes to say your prayers and then..."

"Don't you think you're being a bit excessive when it comes to not letting anybody know?" Morgana asked plaintively. "I understand about Uther, but plenty of other people would probably approve. And that nonsense about not being involved with a workplace colleague, that's simply silly. Look at Gwen and Lance."

"Gwen and Lance had what is known as a pre-existing condition, to put it in medical terms," Arthur growled. "They became involved before Lance was hired, not after."

"But that's just as bad," Morgana insisted. "Some people might think Lance was hired by the Institute _because_ his girlfriend works there."

"I don't care," Arthur said stonily. "My private life is _private_ , Morgana, and it isn't anybody else's business. And there's an end to it."

"Well, what does Merlin think?"

"Merlin isn't thinking, he's eating," responded Merlin, his mouth full of stir-fried vegetables. "I'm famished."

"I thought you said you're lactose intolerant," Morgana said curiously. "Are you sure you can have that pizza?"

"One or two slices are okay," Merlin explained, reaching across the table. "There isn't that much cheese on them." He scooped a second helping of vegetables onto his paper plate. "I can't believe how hungry I am."

Morgana shrugged. "Arthur has that effect on people. Well, don't let him tire you out, Merlin. The man doesn't know his own strength."

Arthur shot Morgana a furious glance, and she wisely retreated into silence.

They finished their impromptu meal and Morgana hastily took her leave. At the door, she gave Arthur an awkward hug (which he returned, awkwardly) and another mumbled apology. Then she kissed Merlin's cheek and smiled at him, causing Arthur to see red for three seconds.

"Well, that's done it," Merlin said once the door had closed behind her. Arthur was still tense, and Merlin made an effort to cheer him up. "Imagine the disastrous effect our, erm, friendship could have on the rest of the staff. Lance and Gwen will start necking in the hallway. Morgana will ravish Leon. Gaius will take up with some young babe. All of the guards will begin sleeping together."

Arthur scowled but then laughed involuntarily. " _Mer_ lin," he grumbled. "You're an idiot. No--don't bother about the washing up, the forks and knives can wait until morning."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arthur held Merlin in his arms and wondered about him a little.

_He's reserved, he never talks about himself. Everybody likes him, but he's hard to get to know. In fact, there's so much that I don't know about him. Apart from his professional abilities, his unique personality, and...this._

Merlin sighed and fitted himself more closely into Arthur's embrace.

Arthur's sexual experience was broad; he had strong appetites and had been with both women and men. From the look of things, Merlin probably had never had a male lover before him, but he was an intuitive partner, his instincts were flawless, his response to Arthur's lovemaking was almost lyrical in its sweetness. Arthur slid a hand over silky skin, taut muscle, and a bony hip, and heard Merlin gasp with pleasure.

_Yes, well, he desires me. Thank the gods. But how does he feel about me, really?_

He thought about the way virtually every person at the Institute got along with Merlin, the way the women (Morgana and Gwen in particular) all adored him and fussed over him, the way the young girls who did volunteer work in the library made eyes at him and flirted with him (of course they would have done the same to Arthur, except that they were all in awe of the Assistant Director). He had even seen one or two of the muscular young security guards slide their eyes in Merlin's direction.

_They wouldn't dare. I don't want anyone else to touch him. He's_ _ **mine**_.

Then Merlin's hand closed softly round him, and the movement of his wrist stopped Arthur from thinking entirely.


	22. Of Parties and Perils

As November drew to a close, things fell into a relatively simple routine. Within the confines of the Institute, the Assistant Director and Merlin Emrys maintained a strictly professional relationship, providing no real evidence of any other kind of connection, to the profound disappointment of the entire staff. (Their chaste and platonic behavior actually fooled almost no one, but people were too intimidated by Arthur, and too fond of Merlin, to let them see it.) To Arthur's vast relief, Morgana made no attempt to broadcast her newly acquired knowledge, and kept her word to say nothing to anyone. This did not, however, prevent her from aiming meaningful looks at her stepbrother during staff meetings, or whenever she happened to come across him in the same room as his junior conservator.

"You look positively lovesick, Arthur Pendragon," she whispered to him one day as they passed in the hallway. Arthur swore and threw a crumpled up loan agreement form at her head.

Merlin had mended the Dresden plate. He had brought the shards to work, invaded the Objects Conservation workroom, and spent hours fitting the pieces together with such care, and so meticulously, that it was impossible to see the breaks in the porcelain.

"That's not one of ours," Will said accusingly when he saw it. "It must be be nineteenth century. Did you bring it from home, then?"

"Sort of," Merlin said brusquely, and Will said nothing further.

Although the Institute was open to the public on Thanksgiving Day, the curatorial and conservation staff had the day off. As was customary, Morgana hosted a holiday party in her flat on Central Park West, a rambling, eleven-room apartment nearly the size, so Gaius joked, of some people's country estates. Senior staff were invited, as well as all other employees--the security staff, the Gift Shop cashiers, and the library and administrative office staff, who were working but could make their way over to the west side after five o'clock. A Thanksgiving dinner of stupendous proportions was produced by Morgana (who enjoyed cooking when she didn't have to), aided by Gwen, Gaius, Will, and Merlin, all of whom spent the holiday morning in Morgana's huge kitchen, chopping, peeling, slicing, and stirring with a vengeance.

The meal itself included the traditional turkey with stuffing, cranberry sauce, cranberry relish, roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, cornbread ("So American!" Morgana raved), pumpkin pie, and apple crumble. There was also something that resembled a meatloaf, but made of grains, ground nuts, veggie burgers, and vegetarian "sausage," all mashed together and baked, that Morgana concocted for Merlin's benefit.

Arthur remained aloof from the goings on in the kitchen, but he obligingly made several runs to the local liquor store, and set up the bar at one end of Morgana's dining room.

As everyone was due to be back at work the following day, the party broke up well before midnight, and attendees managed to pull on their coats and stagger out the door, pushing their swollen stomachs before them. Gaius, who, after several drinks, had entertained the throng with an interestingly off-key rendition of the song "Camelot" (from the old Broadway musical of the same name), was put into a taxi by his fellow conservators. Gwen and Lance became very touchy-feely over dessert, and were sternly admonished by Will to go and "get a room." Morgana complained about having eaten too much of her own pumpkin pie, and sat on the sofa with a martyred expression on her face whilst Leon and two of the library volunteers carried plates to the kitchen and did the washing up.

"I think I need some antacid tablets, or whatever," Morgana moaned.

"Rumor has it you can purchase such things at your local pharmacy," Arthur replied, quite without pity.

By the time the flat had emptied out Morgana was feeling somewhat better, Gwen and Lance had stopped snogging and were tidying the living room, and Arthur had removed Merlin's third drink from his hand, sending him off to the kitchen to locate some leftover pie.

"You don't mind if I take some home, do you, Morgana?" he asked, stuffing the wrapped up slices into a plastic shopping bag.

"Oh, take it all home, I don't want to look at it again," sighed his stepsister. She studied her four colleagues, bundled into their wraps, and was tempted to say something about two pairs of lovebirds, but the look in Arthur's eyes promised dire reprisal if she did.

As they exited, Arthur could still hear Leon rattling about in Morgana's kitchen, and he gave his stepsister a stern look before stepping into the elevator.

Once on the sidewalk, with a damp and very cold wind blowing about them, they hailed a cab.

"You take it, Gwen, you and Lance can share one," Arthur murmured.

"Thanks love," she replied, looking from him to Merlin, and then nudging Lance and smiling when Arthur's back was turned.

It took longer to get a second cab, and by the time an empty one appeared in the distance, Merlin was shivering in the increasingly brutal wind off Central Park. Arthur restrained himself from putting an arm around him, and gestured the cab towards the curb. Once inside, he rubbed Merlin's ice cold fingers between his hands ("Where are your gloves, you idiot?"), gave his address to the driver, and then sat back in a food-induced stupor for the remainder of the ride.

In his flat, they brushed their teeth, fumbled off their clothes, and were asleep almost the moment they touched the mattress. Merlin curled into the warmth of Arthur's body and dreamt about being in Ealdor in the summer. In Arthur's dreams, he and Merlin were pursued first by a dinosaur-sized Thanksgiving turkey and then by several of the Institute's security guards, who wanted to take Merlin away "to play with."

The following morning, Morgana surveyed all of her bloated and bleary-eyed co-workers with triumphant satisfaction and declared her dinner party a roaring success.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For the sake of appearances, and because they were both secretly frightened by the idea, Arthur and Merlin had made the decision not to move in together-at least, not yet. Merlin maintained his small downtown flat, but he spent Wednesday nights and weekends at Arthur's. They never left work in each other's company, meeting instead at some designated point between the Institute and Arthur's building, and then often wandering into one of the many neighbhood restaurants for dinner. During their second weekend together, Arthur had wordlessly handed Merlin a key to the flat.

On the weekend following Morgana's dinner party the weather was unseasonably cold and blustery. Consequently, they spent a great deal of time in bed, and Arthur did something with Merlin that he was fairly certain Merlin had never done before.

Afterwards, Merlin lay very still with his face partly buried in the pillow, and Arthur kissed him softly on the nape of his neck.

"Are you alright, Merlin?" he whispered after minute or two had gone by.

"Mmmph," came Merlin's muffled reply, although his fingers laced themselves with Arthur's and squeezed.

"Did I hurt you?" Arthur asked a little anxiously.

"N-no...I mean, yes, but only a bit at first...after that, it was good."

Arthur rested his brow against Merlin's lustrous black hair. He had been as gentle as he could be, and Merlin had been acquiescent. Arthur had felt him tense and flinch, and he had given one short, sharp cry, but moments later everything seemed to be well, and Arthur's free hand was sticky with the evidence of Merlin's pleasure.

"You've...never done that before?" Arthur felt obliged to ask, even though he was more or less sure of what the answer would be.

"You know I haven't," came the predicted response. "I've never been with a man before you."

Arthur said nothing, but he couldn't help feeling just a little smug.

"Will you let me do that to you sometime?" Merlin asked faintly.

Arthur gave this some consideration. In his relationships with both women and men he had generally been the sexually dominant partner, and with men he had always been, as the baseball-loving Americans put it, the pitcher, not the catcher. He felt a degree of trepidation. But if it would make Merlin happy...

"I don't see why not," he replied.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You know Uther's coming over in mid-December," Morgana reminded her stepbrother several days later. "I suppose he'll want to stay with you?"

"Bloody hell and damnation," muttered the Assistant Director, clenching his fists without being aware of it. "Why can't the man stay in a hotel? He can bloody well afford the best."

"I suppose he bloody well wants to spend some time with his son, occasionally," she mocked him, gently. "I'd invite him to stay at my flat, only I really don't think I could stand it."

The two exchanged exasperated glances, in accord (for once) with one another.

"At least he's not staying through Christmas," Morgana said glumly. "That would be entirely too much, and I think we would all be ready for the lunatic asylum."

"You mean the psychiatric hospital," Arthur said reprovingly. "Nobody says 'lunatic asylum' anymore. Well, I we'll simply have to put up with it. I don't suppose you'd care to throw another dinner party?"

"I suppose I can," she conceded. "And just invite the senior staff. Or do you think it should be just you and me and Gaius? I mean I'm sure you don't want to subject Mer-I mean, anybody else to dear daddy's scrutiny."

Arthur smiled wryly in spite of himself. "No, you're quite right," he murmured, realizing with a sinking heart that Merlin would have to remove himself, and all evidence of himself, from his flat for the duration of Uther's visit. "And if I were you, I'd advise Leon to keep out of his way as well." He shot a sharp look in Morgana's direction and noticed that she had the grace to blush. (Hah! Pendragon, one; LeFay, nothing.)

"That goes without saying," Morgana grimaced, refusing to look him in the face. "Not that _I'm_ admitting to anything, mind, but I can just imagine Uther's face if he heard that I was, uh, friendly with someone in the Security Department, even the Head of the Security Department. He's always been such a total snob, but then you know that."

They were standing in one of the galleries, in front of the newly-installed Sicilian fresco, now well protected by a sheet of plexiglass. The still brilliant colors of the image-a pair of lions face to face-glowed richly, and Arthur was forced to admit that there was hardly any glare at all on the plexi, thanks to skillful lighting and the placement of the piece, facing away from the gallery windows. (Hmm. Emrys, one; Pendragon, nothing.)

"By the way," he said quietly, as he and Morgana turned to leave the gallery. "There's a small reception at the Metropolitan Museum next week. I think you and I should go, and perhaps Gaius as well. Perhaps even the other conservators-Will, Gwen, and Merlin. It's probably time I laid eyes on Morgause's new conservator, the mysterious Mr Valiant, don't you think?"


	23. Long Live the King

* * *

Valiant was a solidly built man with a raspy voice. His walk was just verging on a swagger, or the rolling gait of a ship's captain on the high seas. At the Metropolitan Museum's reception, he strolled through the crowd of art historians, curators, and conservators, with one hand behind the elbow of Dr. Morgause Lothian. He was a blatantly physical male and not unattractive; he smiled pleasantly at everyone to whom he was introduced, but as Gwen said later, his eyes were "cold as ice."

Gaius, who was also present, had tried looking him up, in museum directories, lists of university graduates, and various online sites, with no success. He greeted Valiant cordially, but one could see from his monumentally raised eyebrows that he had doubts about the man's credentials.

Morgause was gracious to the visitors from the Pendragon Institute. She drew Valiant away from the drinks table and introduced him to Arthur and the four conservators. He and Arthur shook hands, each fixing the other with a level stare that made Merlin think of two warriors testing each other's metal. Will tried to engage him in conversation about conservation techniques, but Valiant soon changed the subject to favorite football teams.

"How did he get this job?" Will asked Gwen, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"Gaius said one of the Metropolitan's conservators allegedly damaged a manuscript, and he was sacked because of it. So Morgause moved Valiant right in, in his place. But no one could understand it, the conservator who was sacked has an excellent reputation, worked at the museum for years. As soon as he left it, he was snapped up by one of the National Museums in Berlin. And no one seems to know much about this Valiant person."

"Well, people will know about him now," Will muttered. "Working for the Metropolitan, one of the largest, most famous museums in the world--it's quite a feather in his cap."

"I've heard of you, Mr Emrys," Valiant said when he was introduced to Merlin. "People talk about you at Cambridge and the Courtauld, or so I've been told. Quite the nonconformist star, weren't you?"

Merlin made modest noises of denial and got away from Valiant as quickly as possible.

"There's something odd--he made my skin crawl," he admitted under his breath to Will as they left the museum half an hour later. This, coming from Merlin (who almost never spoke ill of anybody), made Will acknowledge his own suspicions about the Met's new conservator.

"He's rather an interesting character," Morgana said to Arthur.

"I know you admire Morgause," Arthur said shortly. "But that's not a reason to admire her taste in men."

"What do you think of him?" Morgana asked, curious.

Arthur shrugged.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arthur had been making a point of **not** going downstairs to the Institute's Conservation workrooms unless he had to, but when he was there he enjoyed watching Merlin work. This wasn't the awkward, boyish, daydreaming Merlin who existed outside of the Conservation studios. This was Merlin the conservator, with his incredibly precise, delicate touch, his focused blue stare, his uncanny, almost magical ability to clean the soiled surface of a vellum or parchment manuscript without damaging pigment, fit pieces of a broken ceramic together so perfectly that the cracks were nearly invisible, stabilize gold leaf to prevent its flaking. Arthur would watch him concentrate on a work of art, his black brows drawn a little together, his pillowy lower lip sometimes caught between his teeth, those long fingered hands manipulating tweezers, brushes or other tools of the profession, and he was genuinely fascinated. At the same time, he would remember the way those hands caressed him, how they had come to know the surfaces of his own skin. Once, when he was doing this, he found himself forced to leave the studio before evidence of his excitement became too visible.

Thank God Morgana hadn't been there at the time.

Somehow, Arthur couldn't imagine Valiant handling ceramics, paintings, or sculptures with such care. His hands, large and meaty, looked more apt for wielding a weapon than holding a brush, pair of tweezers, or thin sheets of acid-free tissue paper. On the other hand, Morgause Lothian appeared to be completely smitten with the fellow, and what _she_ thought about when she looked at _his_ hands, Arthur really didn't care to know.

"He looks as though he'd be a bull in a china shop," Arthur said to Merlin later, in the privacy of his flat. "Imagine that great oaf crashing about in the Conservation studios, knocking into sculptures, dripping sweat on the manuscripts, and trampling Gaius underfoot by accident."

"That isn't very nice," Merlin replied. "Perhaps he's quite capable." But then he laughed so hard that he doubled over.

"Hang on," Arthur grumbled when Merlin finally collapsed into an armchair, gasping for breath. "I don't see what's so amusing. He couldn't possibly be in your league. Just look at his hands. He's got fingers like sausages."

For some reason this made Merlin convulse with laughter once again, and Arthur stared at him in disbelief.

"You really are impossible," he muttered after Merlin stopped howling and sat upright in the armchair, small hiccups and bursts of laughter occasionally exploding from his lips. "I pay you a compliment and you find it hysterically funny."

"It _is_ funny," Merlin replied, coughing. "I don't think I like the man myself, but to judge him on the basis of his fingers and his physique? Gaius doesn't exactly have dainty hands. And you've pointed out often enough how clumsy _I_ am."

"Clumsy _outside_ of the studio," Arthur said.

"Well, perhaps he's graceful as a ballerina _inside_ the studio," Merlin said as he stood up, and Arthur threw his hands in the air with exasperation.

"Sorry," said Merlin apologetically, hanging his head with what he hoped looked like humility, but Arthur crooked a finger under his chin and raised it.

" _Mer_ lin," he sighed, placing his hands on his conservator's shoulders and resting their foreheads together. "Are you going to argue with me every time I want to make love?"

"Probably," Merlin whispered, sliding both arms around Arthur's neck.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Merlin," Arthur said at around midnight, when they awoke, as usual, ravenously hungry. "You know my father's coming from London in a week. He's only staying for seven to ten days, but while he's here he expects to stay with me."

"Yes, I know," came a soft mumble from beneath his chin. "I'll move my things out before. Before he gets here. And don't worry, I'll stay out of his way."

"He's the one who hired you, for pity's sake," Arthur said, frowning. "He'll expect to see your work. But he'll be much more interested in the coming year's schedule of exhibitions, and what I...and Morgana, I suppose...have been doing to further the renown and good name of the Pendragon Institute."

Merlin chuckled and Arthur cuffed him very lightly about the head.

"There's fruit salad in the fridge," he murmured. "And that odd vegetable stew thing you like so much. The contents of my kitchen have undergone quite a change since...since I've known you."

"The first time I was here, there was virtually no food in your kitchen," Merlin said reproachfully, but he looked remarkably cheerful as he spoke. "Unless you count a frozen steak and a half bottle of vodka. What does Uther expect to eat when he visits you?"

"He insists on going out to a pricey restaurant every night," Arthur replied, his frown deepening. "And he expects either Morgana or me to go with him. Ah well, at least he won't stay through the holidays. Are you...planning to visit your mother, then?"

"In the spring," Merlin said, yawning. "I'll take a week or two in Ealdor when it gets warmer. Don't you have to spend some time in London this coming year?"

"I usually do," Arthur answered, running one hand lightly over Merlin's ribs and his very flat stomach. "But I don't know when. Or if I'll want to. My God, _Mer_ lin, I think you're getting thinner! So-let's eat something before you disappear altogether."

It was obvious to both of them that they were subtly feeling each other out for signs of commitment, but neither was willing to admit it out loud.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the Institute, curiosity about Valiant soon gave way to apprehension about the pending visit of the Senior Director. Merlin was amused to note that the mere mention of Uther's name was enough to cause virtually every employee to straighten his or her spine and tighten his shoulders as if preparing for some form of military inspection. He remembered his own encounter with Uther--his job interview--and how the man exuded an authoritarian self-confidence that brooked no opposition. Since his mischievous student days, Merlin had learned to keep his head down and stay out of trouble (insofar as it was possible), and he was not easily intimidated. But Uther had intimidated him.

In the days immediately preceding his father's arrival, Arthur was withdrawn and a bit irritable. Staff members gave his office a wide berth, and only Gaius, Gwen, and Merlin dared to approach him unless it was absolutely necessary. Morgana was also rather testy, but her nervousness manifested itself in a different manner. During lunch hour she disappeared into various shops on Madison Avenue, reappearing at the Institute with bags and boxes filled with examples of international haute couture. Gwen eyed these purchases with amazement and envy, but Arthur glowered at her and told her that she was a confirmed half-wit to be spending so much money.

"You'd think the Martians were about to land," Gwen said under her breath to Merlin on the morning that the Director's flight was due at Kennedy Airport. "I can't believe how bloody nervous everybody is. It's not as though he's going to line us up and lecture us one by one. He'll probably be perfectly cordial. But even Arthur and Morgana aren't expecting him to show any warmth, he almost never does. I met him two or three times, years ago, when Arthur and I were, um, together, and he was civil to me but never particularly friendly. Now that I work here, he's accepted me as a more-than-competent conservator, and he's a bit less distant...he was distinctly relieved when the two of us stopped being a couple."

"Ah," mumbled Merlin, who could think of nothing else to say.

"Honestly," Gwen went on crossly, "you'd think he was planning to marry Arthur off to some posh aristocrat with a mile-long pedigree." Seconds later, she realized to whom she was speaking, and blushed, glancing sideways at Merlin in the hope she hadn't upset him. But Merlin looked perfectly calm, and he was even grinning a little. Gwen had never spoken to him of the general belief--held by the majority of the staff--that the Assistant Director and his junior conservator were more than simply friends and colleagues, but she had the distinct feeling that he knew that _she_ knew.

They were standing in the top floor Textile Conservation studio, looking out of one of the windows overlooking the street, watching the December wind blow crumpled brown leaves and bits of rubbish down the pavement below. Moments later they heard the sharp tap of high heels, and Morgana came through the door, lips pressed tightly together, her hands twisting in the silk jersey of her stylish, dark green dress.

"His flight was on time," she said gloomily. "He should be here at any moment."

The words had hardly left her lips when a cab pulled up to the curb outside of the Institute, and the three were treated to a foreshortened view of Uther Pendragon as he stepped onto the sidewalk and waited for the driver to unload his luggage from the back of the car.


	24. A Most Uncomfortable Week?

"Oh, good lord!" Morgana breathed, looking down at the street, the cab, and the luggage that was beginning to pile up next to her stepfather. Then she drew a deep breath as the rear door of the taxi was pushed open even farther, and a small figure climbed out of the back seat, joining Uther Pendragon on the pavement.

"It's Mordred!" Morgana exclaimed in a tone of surprise combined with both pleasure and a certain misgiving. "I can't believe he brought Mordred with him. Why didn't he let us know? What _could_ he be thinking, the silly man?"

"Oh," said Gwen, staring down at the two figures with curiosity. "Your little half brother. Arthur's half brother. Gaius' godson. My, but you _are_ a complicated family."

"Did you know that Gaius is my unofficial godfather?" Merlin asked. "Does that make me part of this complicated family?"

"Is he _really_?" Gwen and Morgana both asked in amazement.

"He hadn't seen me since I was preschooler, until I came here. He's known my mum forever, though, I'm sure I told you that," Merlin replied, but a peremptory rap on the door had them spinning around, away from the window, to face Gaius himself. He gave them a kindly, reassuring smile, but they noted immediately that his hands were shaking and bits of his silvery hair were standing on end where he had run his fingers through them.

'Let's all go downstairs, shall we?" Gaius asked in a jovial tone meant to draw attention away from his disheveled hair and suddenly palsied fingers. "Mustn't keep Uther waiting."

Like a flock of obedient schoolchildren, they filed down the stairs after Gaius, Morgana with a grim expression on her face, Gwen with something like a smirk on hers. Merlin brought up the rear of the small procession, and, being Merlin, managed to defuse the atmosphere of doom by tripping on the final step and exclaiming "Oh _bugger_!" in a very loud and agitated voice just as Gaius pushed open the door to the hallway.

The security guards stopped looking petrified and began to snigger, whilst Will, who had been waiting for them, rolled his eyes and made shushing noises at the same time.

"He's just gone into Arthur's office, he and the little sprout," Will said in an exaggerated whisper. Morgana scowled at him.

"He's not a little sprout, Will, he's my brother, Mordred," she snapped. "And he's a lot brighter than any of you lot will ever be."

"Sorry," Will murmured in a conciliatory tone, but he made evil faces at Morgana behind her back until Gwen's furious glare compelled him to stop.

"This entire place has gone mad," Merlin said under his breath, but he followed meekly in Morgana's wake until they reached the door to Arthur's office.

"Let's go, Gwen, Uther doesn't need to see us," he said, once they were opposite the door. Will nodded in agreement, and the three stepped to the side as Morgana and Gaius knocked and then entered. The door remained open long enough for Merlin to catch a glimpse of Arthur, rather pale, his jaw set, incredibly handsome in an Armani jacket, emerging from behind his desk to receive Uther's hearty clap on the shoulder.

As it turned out, Uther had no desire to see any of the employees, senior or otherwise, until the following day, when he was scheduled to address them during the staff meeting. He left the Institute promptly at five, in the company of his sons and stepdaughter, whilst the most muscular of the security guards hauled his luggage outside to the waiting car. They were to go out to dinner, and then they would return to Arthur's flat, minus Morgana (who would doubtless go home and pour herself a hearty dollop of Scotch).

Shortly before ten o'clock that evening, Merlin received a text message from Arthur.

_Have a good night u idiot. Behave yourself. A._

Feeling just a little sorry for the Assistant Director, he promptly replied.

_Good luck u prat. XXXXX wherever you want them. M aka idiot._

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

According to Morgana, people often wondered whether the Pendragon genes guaranteed good looks or whether Uther had managed to produce two undeniably gorgeous children through sheer force of will. ("Why is it nobody ever mentions the _mothers_ involved?" Morgana complained. She herself didn't count, for as beautiful as she was, she was not related to Uther by blood.) The Senior Director's younger son, Mordred, Arthur's half brother, was a thin child with brown hair, regular features, a striking, three-cornered face still soft with baby roundness, and the most remarkable pair of blue-grey eyes Merlin had ever seen. He sat in on the staff meeting, looking quite alert and interested for a child of his age, but said nothing to anyone. He had a direct yet somewhat disarming stare that Merlin found almost unnerving, not aware that it very much resembled his own.

Uther himself might have been hovering somewhere close to sixty, give or take a few years, but he was an imposing man who retained elements of the rugged appeal he clearly must have had in his youth. This was made obvious by the behavior of Katrina, the Information Desk lady, who brought the coffee and tea things into the staff meeting and then hovered about, perhaps in the hopes that someone would ask her to stay. She was a handsome woman in her middle years, but her generally stern demeanor melted like butter in the sun at the sight of the Senior Director sitting in the place usually occupied by his son.

("She's never liked me much," Arthur had once said to Merlin. "She thinks _I_ should be in London and _my father_ should be here. She believes I'm a total ne'er-do-well and would probably call you my fancy boy."  "She's a troll," Morgana had said to both of them on another occasion. "She doesn't like me either.")

Arthur sat with the rest of the staff and let his father chair the meeting. As Uther addressed first one department and then another, Arthur surveyed his employees with a well-concealed sense of pride. It would have been difficult to assemble a finer group of skilled professionals anywhere. They listened respectfully to the Senior Director, jotting down notes from time to time. It amused him a little to see that they were all impeccably dressed for the occasion-all, that is, except for Merlin, who was clad in jeans, a rugby shirt...and his blue-grey neckscarf. Lance and Gwen sat decorously on either side of Gaius, rather than together; Morgana kept her distance from Leon; Gaius himself reminded Arthur of a mother hen with a brood of well-behaved chicks. The Assistant Director briefly let his eyes stray in the direction of Merlin who sat, desirable and oblivious of Arthur's gaze, in his usual place between Gwen and Will.

Following this, he turned his attention to the pronouncements being issued by the senior Pendragon. Uther was evidently pleased with the Institute's schedule for the coming year, pleased with attendance numbers, and only slightly less pleased with the diminished income from the Gift Shop.

"In the present economy, nobody's buying _art exhibition catalogues_ , for God's sake," muttered Morgana, but Uther did not seem to consider the economy a good excuse.

Then it was on to the subject of recent additions to the Institute's collection, and Morgana delivered her report on the Sicilian fresco, followed by Merlin's report on the piece's excellent condition. Uther fixed Merlin with an eagle eye as he spoke, and then asked to be shown the work he had done since his arrival at the Institute. Merlin promised to let him see every piece he had treated.

"Tomorrow," Uther said complacently, and brought the staff meeting to a close.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shortly before the lunch hour, Merlin was summoned to the Assistant Director's office. When he arrived, he found Arthur and Morgana arguing about how many works of art he should show to Uther on the following day.

"I told him I'd show him everything," Merlin began, and was surprised when the two of them let it go at that.

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur began, absently turning a pile of photographs over and over in his hands, as gingerly as if they were poisoned. "Wait...what was I going to say?"

"You idiot," Merlin supplied helpfully.

"No...that is, Merlin, _you idiot_ , if you don't mind, would you wear something a bit less, uh, informal when you show his majesty around the Conservation studios tomorrow?"

"Of course," Merlin said in such a submissive voice that Arthur shot him a sharp glance, hoping that he wasn't planning on donning his oldest jeans and an ancient Astro Boy tee shirt just to get the Senior Director's goat.

"Oh, what does it matter what Merlin wears?" Morgana snapped irritably. "If Uther wants to find fault, he'll find fault, no matter what he's wearing."

It was obvious that Morgana and Arthur were going to bicker for the remainder of the afternoon, and it was equally obvious that things were going to be uncomfortable at the Institute for the duration of Uther's visit. Merlin sidled to the door as unobtrusively as he knew how, miraculously not bumping into anything, catching Arthur's eye just before he made a silent exit. The Assistant Director looked distinctly rattled, and Merlin gave him a very gentle smile before escaping, gratefully, to the Paper Conservation studio.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I want to see Merlin's studio," Mordred said, shortly after returning to his half-brother's flat in the company of said half-brother and his father. They had just finished a staggeringly expensive dinner at a nearby restaurant, and although Arthur's checking account was substantial enough that he almost never had to practice economy, he was happy to know that Uther had footed the bill.

"It's not Merlin's studio, Mordred," Arthur said patiently. He and Mordred got on fairly well, for half-brothers with a large age difference, and he had supposed that the week in New York would be boring for the child, stuck in a museum with a bunch of tedious, chattering adults. Mordred was more than exceedingly bright for his age--in fact, he attended a London school for gifted children--but he was not particularly trusting and had always viewed strangers with suspicion. He had said nothing to any of the Institute's staff, treating them all as if they had the plague--with the exception of Merlin. Although he eyed Merlin as warily as he eyed everybody else, he had actually spoken with him, and was now expressing an interest in watching him work.

"It isn't _his_ studio," Arthur said again. "Look, it's really Uncle Gaius' studio, and he shares it with Merlin, and Gwen, and-"

"Gaius isn't my uncle," Mordred said flatly.

"Well no, of course he isn't, but when you were younger you always called him--"

"Can I watch Merlin work then?"

Arthur gave up. "Yes, of course you can. Tomorrow."

"How's the lad working out, Arthur?" Uther asked as he strode down the hallway, shepherding Mordred towards the kitchen. "I hired him on impulse, or almost. He's very young, but there was so much being said about his abilities that I felt compelled to snap him up."

"I don't believe you've never done anything on impulse in your life," replied his son. "But to answer your question, yes, he's working out just fine, and yes, he does excellent work. The best I've ever seen."

"Good," Uther said curtly, as he opened the refrigerator door and investigated the contents. "Now Mordred, I want you to drink a glass of milk before you have your bath."

Mordred rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as if to say _I'm ten years old, almost eleven, and I don't need a glass of milk before bed_ , but he remained silent.

Arthur turned away from the refrigerator. He could not, he realized, look at that great bloody hunk of metal without remembering the first time he had brought Merlin home with him, the feel of Merlin's thin, flexible body as he pressed him back against the chilly stainless steel, Merlin's lips opening under the persistence of his kisses, the pallor of his throat as he let his head fall back, the sharpness of his hipbones when Arthur placed his hands there.

He acknowledged to himself that he must be very far gone if the sight of a stupid **_kitchen appliance_ ** could make him go all girly like that.

_And then afterwards in his bedroom, with Merlin, pale all over, panting in his-_

Uther's deceptively mild voice broke into his admittedly heated recollection.

"Arthur-why on earth do you have all these cartons of lactose-free milk?"


	25. How to Say Something Without Saying It

Arthur's young half brother, Mordred, was a puzzle to nearly everyone at the Institute. It was noticed that he almost never smiled. He was not _unfriendly_ per se, but he was clearly the most withdrawn child they had ever met. In addition, he was probably the most _cerebral_ child they had ever encountered. Mordred spoke to no one--with the exception of his family, and now Merlin--but when he wasn't otherwise occupied, his face was buried in a textbook of university-level physics.

Merlin was perfectly happy to show Mordred around the Conservation studios, prior to Uther's inspection, and when he settled down to work on a torn manuscript he allowed Mordred to pull up a stool and watch him. Mordred sat very quietly, his legs dangling, and once every five minutes or so he asked what Merlin found to be extremely astute questions about technique and working methods. After about an hour of this they took a break, and when Arthur and Morgana came downstairs to fetch him, they found Mordred and Merlin seated at an empty worktable, teaching each other _card tricks_.

"What in bloody--I mean what on earth are you two doing?" Arthur demanded, staring in astonishment. " _Card tricks?_ "

He was still chafing from the odd look Uther had given him the night before, upon the discovery of all the lactose-free milk in his refrigerator.

"Oh-some friends of mine stopped in for dinner and one of them is, uh, lactose-sensitive." he had mumbled rather lamely.

"Is that why you felt compelled to buy three quarts of the stuff?" Uther had asked with an alarmingly Gaius-like hitch of his eyebrows.

And now his lactose-intolerant conservator was teaching his half-brother card tricks, as calmly as if Uther wasn't due to arrive in the studio in approximately five minutes.

Two pairs of intense blue eyes were raised to his.

"We've already been through the disappearing coin trick," Merlin explained. "Mordred's a natural."

"Merlin showed me how to mend a manuscript," Mordred said solemnly in his piping treble.

The Assistant Director and Morgana exchanged glances of frustration, but they managed to coax Mordred to accompany them upstairs (with the promise of chocolate chip scones in the staff lounge), just in time before Uther made his appearance in the Paper Conservation studio.

"What a relief!" Morgana murmured to Arthur as they whisked Mordred off. "It's nice to know that infant geniuses are not immune to the charms of choc chip scones."

Merlin had laid out a number of recently cleaned and stabilized manuscripts on the worktable, and had just launched into an explanation of the methods he had used when the Senior Director interrupted him by placing a hand on his arm with what would have been a genial smile, if it weren't for the sharp expression in his eyes that went with it.

"Well, young man," boomed Uther, and Merlin nearly winced. "It seems you're living up to your reputation for excellent work. I trust you like it here. So tell me...how have you found it, working for Arthur?"

"Oh," Merlin said nonchalantly. "We get on well. Scarcely any disagreement on the subject of conservation methods. He's an excellent Director. I mean, Assistant Director. If you'd care to look over here, sir, I can show you the very first piece he gave me to work on. Gaius thinks the treatment was quite successful."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For the rest of the week, the staff of the Pendragon Institute tiptoed softly around the visiting Director. Uther seemed happy with the way things were going at the museum, and he said as much to his son and his stepdaughter. What neither appreciated--although they had been expecting it--were Uther's increasingly insistent questions about their activities outside of the workplace. He wished to know, in other words, about their social lives, and with whom they were spending their free time. Arthur didn't know if this was because visions of grandchildren were beginning to dance in his head, or because he had certain wealthy, socially prominent spouses in mind for himself and Morgana.

"I really don't think I can take these interrogations much longer," he confessed to Morgana one morning in his office.

"Oh really?" his stepsister replied with a touch of sarcasm. "Are you telling me that you're on the verge of breaking down and confessing to daddy that I've been having candlelit dinners with someone from the _Security_ Department? And that you've been fu--that you've been sharing your bed, that is, your weekends with a _junior_ conservator who also happens to be an _employee_ , and _not wealthy_ , and a _man_?"

"Candlelit dinners now, is it?" Arthur grumbled. "You _are_ moving along."

"Oh don't be so bloody insensitive," Morgana hissed. "What's wrong with lovely dinners in a charming restaurant? I'm sure Merlin is absolutely yummy and delicious in more ways than one, so don't talk to me about what _I've_ been eating--"

" _Morgana!_ " Arthur exploded. "Must you always be so vulgar?"

"Only when it's fun," she replied airily. "Now Arthur dear, if Uther asks, I've only been dating lawyers, brain surgeons, and corporate CEOs. And if he asks _me_ about _you_ , I'll say you've met some debutante with a revoltingly rich daddy who survived the collapse of the big banks."

"Oh very funny," said Arthur sulkily as he checked his computer for in-house messages. ( _Bloody hell! Nothing from Merlin._ ) "Who's going with him to dinner tonight, you or me?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

What Arthur _didn't_ know, but would have touched him immensely if he _had_ known, was that the staff of the Institute had resolutely closed ranks against Uther's attempts to obtain information about his son's private life.

"You've held several benefit cocktail and dinner parties here this year," Uther said to Gaius. "D'you happen to recall who it was Arthur brought to those events?"

"Oh," Gaius mumbled vaguely. "There have been two or three different ladies, if that's what you're asking about. Acquaintances, I think. Nobody _serious_."

"Special events?" Gwen asked, wrinkling her brow. "Oh, we had two exhibition openings this year. Of course Arthur usually shows up at those by himself so that he can chat with the sponsors."

"Arthur and Morgana are such workaholics," sighed old Geoffrey Monmouth. "You and I have known each other for-how many decades is it now, Uther? I'd certainly tell you if I thought either of them was showing signs of settling down with a _permanent_ , well, partner."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the sixth day of Uther's stay--the next would be his last at the Institute, as he and Mordred were flying out on the morning of the eighth day--the Senior Director went from department to department in a final inspection. The Assistant Director and his curator stepsister stayed as far away from him as they could without being impolite. Both accompanied Uther and Mordred to dinner that evening, and by the time Morgana bid them goodnight and left for her own residence, it was close to nine. Back in Arthur's flat, Uther sent a sleepy Mordred off to bed, and then poured out two generous glasses of whiskey for himself and his older son.

Before his father could launch into another discussion of his and Morgana's dating habits, Arthur felt the pressing urge to escape.

"If you'll excuse me, Father," he said calmly, "Some friends from out of town are in the city, and I promised I'd meet them for a quick drink at The Griffin."

Uther clapped his son on the back, nearly knocking him over.

"Off you go then," he said heartily. "I won't wait up, of course. Jet lag's kicking in-age must be finally catching up with me. I'll see you in the morning."

Once outside, breathing in the cold December air with relief, Arthur pulled out his cellphone and rang Merlin.

Merlin's sleepy voice answered on the fifth ring.

"If you're not sleeping and you're not averse to company," Arthur said without any preamble, "I'd like to stop in for a bit. I'm in your neighborhood."

"No you're not," Merlin replied, sounding a little less sleepy. "Those are distinctly Upper East Side noises I'm hearing. Even the car motors sound like Old Money. But you're welcome to stop by if you want to."

Arthur hailed a cab and was at the door to Merlin's flat in less than half an hour.

Merlin opened the door and surveyed his Assistant Director with drowsy curiosity. Arthur looked tired; there were faint shadows under his eyes, and it struck Merlin that he might be just a little drunk. But his hands were steady as he pushed the door further open, and his walk was steady as he made his way to the small living room.

"Morgana and I have been with Father all evening," he said as if in explanation for his sudden appearance. "I needed to clear my head."

"Incidentally," he added, a moment later. "He's quite impressed with what you've done for the Institute. Gaius has been singing your praises, naturally, but your work speaks for itself."

"Oh...that's great, thanks."

"I've missed you," Arthur said curtly, staring at a spot on the wall above Merlin's left shoulder. "I wanted to say, well...that is...what I wanted to say is... _God_ , Merlin, it's chilly in here, doesn't your landlord turn the heat on?"

It was obvious that whatever Arthur wanted to say was stuck somewhere between his brain and his vocal cords.

"Would you like a drink?" Merlin asked. Arthur shook his head.

"No drink," he said quietly. "Only you. That is...if you've no objection."

His young conservator looked at him quickly, and then looked away, but he said nothing and led the way to his tiny bedroom. Arthur's expression was a little grim, but he did not speak either. Face to face by the bed, they disrobed rapidly, without touching, and Arthur slid under the covers. Merlin switched off the light and joined him. He could feel the tension in Arthur's body and the tightness of his muscles as he pulled Merlin roughly against him.

"Merlin," Arthur moaned into the mop of black hair, and for a moment it seemed as though he was about to say something else, but then he bit his lip--Merlin could actually feel him do this--and pressed his face into the pillow instead.

Merlin was tempted to say, _It's alright, Arthur, you don't have to say anything, you don't have to make promises, I don't expect it of you,_ but he didn't. Why rock the boat? He would not pressure Arthur in any way. He would never pressure him. So he waited until Arthur turned his head and then took Arthur's full lower lip between his own, bringing his teeth into play very softly, before letting his hands slide over those broad, well muscled shoulders and down his back.

To say that Arthur was using the moment to release pent up frustration and energy was, Merlin realized, one way of putting things. Under the circumstances, he had no opposition to letting Arthur take the upper hand, so he murmured against a rock-hard shoulder and allowed Arthur to take him, fiercely. When he was done, Merlin stroked the golden hair, and after their breathing had returned to normal he said simply, "Sleep, Arthur."

Arthur shifted so that Merlin was no longer pinned beneath him, and drew the dark, tousled head to its usual place on his shoulder.

"I've missed you," he said gruffly for the second time that night, and less than a minute later was asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the following day--the final day of his stay in New York--Uther brought a basketful of treats to the Institute's staff meeting. He had sent a very willing Katrina out to purchase an assortment of fresh fruit, some expensive pastries, a jar of overpriced tea, raspberry jam, and some heavy whipping cream to pour in their coffee. To this was added an enormous box of chocolate truffles from Morgana, and a bottle of Devon double cream Mordred had hidden in his luggage. Even Gaius found his eyes glazing over at the sight of this array of food.

At four o'clock, senior staff were summoned to the Assistant Director's office, where the delicacies had been spread out on a low table, with china cups and saucers rather than the usual mugs. Several extra chairs had been moved in to accommodate everybody. After a (thankfully) brief speech thanking and praising the staff of the Institute, Uther invited his employees to tuck in, and for the next twenty minutes there was a vigorous rattle of plates and silverware, and the the sounds of contented munching. Relieved at the Senior Director's pending departure, people circulated, chatting with ease, whilst Morgana poured out tea and coffee and a yawning Assistant Director slouched in his desk chair.

After exchanging several words with Will and Gwen, Uther made his way towards Merlin, who was gingerly carrying coffee and a small dish of fruit back to his seat.

"Nothing in your coffee, Merlin?" the Senior Director asked, eyeing the inky contents of the junior conservator's cup. "I've brought cream, but there's not much left."

"Thank you, no, I probably shouldn't," Merlin replied, setting the fragile porcelain on a side table. "I'm lactose intolerant."

"Really?" Uther said with interest, his glance shifting momentarily to his older son. "How unfortunate."

"Erm, it's not so bad, though," Merlin said uncomfortably. "There are lactose-free diary products."

"I'm glad to hear it," Uther replied genially, although his brows had drawn together.

"Merlin!" Morgana called from across the room, where she was perched on the edge of Arthur's desk. "Have you an extra copy of your report on the fresco? _Mordred_ wants to read it, of all things."

Merlin was quite happy to escape Uther's scrutiny, and he excused himself before heading off to unearth his report from one of the many piles on his desk.

"I hope you've found everything to your satisfaction," Arthur said to his father shortly before five o'clock. "And that you've enjoyed your visit."

"Oh, indeed," the Senior Director responded, with a quizzical look that Arthur found mystifying. "It's been quite interesting. Honestly, one learns something new every day."

* * *


	26. In Which Both Uther and Merlin Do Some Thinking

On the morning that Uther Pendragon caught his return flight to London, the employees of the Pendragon Institute drew a collective sigh of relief and compared interrogation stories. The Senior Director had gone over each department with a fine toothed comb, records of almost everything had been checked and double-checked, and nearly everybody had been asked questions about some other member of the staff.

"This young Merlin," Uther had said to Gaius, shortly after the lactose-laden, celebratory tea of the previous day. "How do you really think he's getting on? I suppose you consider him quite an asset?"

"Oh, yes, quite," Gaius said, pumping up the enthusiasm. "As I told you, I've never known anybody to be so capable at his age. He has a natural talent for the work."

"And on a personal level?" Uther purred.

"Ah! Well, yes, he gets on well with everyone, I suppose. All of the **_girls_** think he's the most adorable creature on two legs. His colleagues, Will and Gwen, will certainly vouch for him. And Arthur seems quite satisfied with him."

"I daresay," Uther muttered so drily that Gaius gave him a look of alarm, but the Senior Director appeared to be relatively cheerful, moving on to a different topic of conversation before Gaius could utter another word of praise for his junior colleague.

"It's been a good season for the Institute," Uther finally said, stuffing reports and various papers into his briefcase as he prepared to take his leave. "Which reminds me--I think it's time Arthur spent a few months in London, to see to things at that end, eh? After all, he does do some work there every year. I'll have to check the calendar. Now-where has Mordred got to?"

"I believe he's with Merlin," Gaius ventured cautiously. "Watching him work on a fifteenth-century altarpiece panel. Mordred finds him quite interesting."

Uther frowned. "Both my sons do, it seems," he said rather cryptically, causing Gaius to wonder exactly what was on his mind. "I'll go and collect him. I take it they're in the Paper Conservation studio? Well! When I hired this young man it didn't register with me that he had any appeal other than as a well-trained and gifted conservator. It appears I was mistaken."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"We should have a party," Morgana said. "To celebrate his majesty's departure."

She had collapsed onto the sofa in the Assistant Director's office. Arthur was seated in the chair behind his desk, and Merlin was slumped wearily in another.

"A party?" mumbled Arthur, reaching for his third cup of tea. "What, another one? Where are the biscuits? Merlin! You...you..."

"Idiot," said Merlin and Morgana automatically.

_"...idiot_! You're sitting on the tin!"

"Sorry," said Merlin, retrieving it. "I don't think I've crushed the biscuits," he added, contritely.

"Merlin, you have my permission to hit him," drawled Morgana. "The way he talks to you!"

"He's always talked to me like that," Merlin replied, rubbing his eyes with fatigue. "Ever since I started here."

"It's not my fault," retorted Arthur, grinning wearily, "that you've always been disrespectful, contradictory, and insubordinate."

The moment Uther's flight took off for London (Gwen monitored the airline on her computer, checking to make certain his flight actually _left_ , with no delays), the entire staff of the Pendragon Institute--with the exception of Katrina--professed themselves happy to breathe the air of freedom once again. Consequently, they all became extremely light-headed and silly, as though it were April Fool's Day. Leon put a prickly pine cone on Katrina's chair behind the Information Desk. Lance and Will hid Gwen's magnifying glass and then feigned total ignorance as she raced about the Textile Conservation studio looking for it. Will only relented and returned it to her when it became obvious that she was on the verge of losing her temper entirely.

"The next time you two do something like that," Gwen shouted, her face flushed with frustration as she brandished the magnifying glass, "I'll tell the entire staff, Lance, exactly what I need to use this thing to look _for_."

Lance looked a bit put out at those words, whilst Will doubled over with hysterical laughter.

Even the Assistant Director dispensed with dignity long enough to enact a prank or two, with the aid of his junior conservator. After rummaging through his office, Merlin located an enormous fake rat that a friend in London--a fellow sufferer from student days at the Courtauld Institute--had sent to him as a joke. He and Arthur positioned it on top of the lintel of Morgana's office door, in such a way that it would be sure to fall the moment the door was opened. Then Arthur knocked, and they raced down the hall, cackling like schoolboys, turning the corner just before they heard the click of the doorknob and Morgana's subsequent scream of horror.

With the aid of a scanner, Photoshop, and some tape, an irate Morgana promptly altered the small plaque next to Arthur's door so that it read **Assistant RAT** rather than **Assistant Director**.

Later, Merlin manually added a "P" so that it read **Assistant PRAT**.

Arthur retaliated by putting a twenty-four hour hold on Morgana's business charge account, and informing Merlin that his punishment would be a week of indentured servitude, the particulars of which would be decided by himself.

"That sounds unbelievably kinky," said Merlin, frowning. "I'll have nothing to do with it."

Morgana sniggered.

Gaius witnessed all of these goings-on with the philosphical resignation of one who had seen much childish nonsense in his lifetime and expected to see more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the end of the work day, everybody was totally exhausted. Lance and Gwen had made up and headed out the front door, arm in arm. Morgana and Leon vanished at around the same time, and the Assistant Director had no doubt that they had booked a table for one of the candlelit dinners Morgana had spoken of several days earlier.

Arthur himself declared that he felt like a limp, wrung-out dishrag. He agreed to join Gaius and Merlin for dinner, but it was too late in the day to get a reservation at any of the neighborhood's high-end eateries. The three finally made do with a quick meal at an inexpensive and rather grimy restaurant, several blocks east of the Institute. As soon as they had finished their deplorable coffee, Gaius rose with the excuse that he was really too old to stay out gallavanting, and took his leave after casting a kind, understanding look at the two young men.

"Shall we go to my place?" Arthur asked. "It's not far."

"But...it's not Wednesday. Or Friday."

"I don't care," Arthur said resolutely, so they paid their bill and walked slowly to Arthur's building, only picking up speed when the wind became too cold. Once inside, Merlin hovered uncertainly at one end of the living room, watching his host pour something that he hoped wasn't whiskey into two heavy glasses.

"You must be tired," he finally blurted out. "I don't want to keep you up, erm, if you-"

"You don't want to keep me _what_?" Arthur's smile was sleepy but suggestive.

"Erm, I thought you said...you said you felt like a limp dishrag..."

"I can see I should never have used the word _limp_ ," Arthur murmured as he crossed the room. "I've regained a great deal of energy, actually." His eyes fastened on the strands of black hair that lay against the creamy skin of Merlin's forehead.

Merlin smiled, and then closed his eyes and shivered as the tips of Arthur's fingers brushed the hair back from his brow.

"Sorry," Arthur whispered, letting the same fingers follow the curve of Merlin's ear and resting his other hand lightly on one side of his narrow waist. "I know I was a bit, um, rough the last time."

Merlin knew that Uther's presence had been the catalyst for that impromptu visit to his own downtown flat two nights ago (and had been, no doubt, the reason behind the roughness as well), but he said nothing, only leaning forward to press his mouth against Arthur's dry and parted lips.

Not long after, lying cradled in Arthur's very careful embrace, Merlin acknowledged to himself that the Institute's Assistant Director was a more complex person than he had judged him to be only a few months ago. The surface arrogance, authoritarian demeanor, and tongue-in-cheek bullying had long since ceased to bother him. He knew that Arthur had a lively intelligence, that he was more empathic and warmhearted than most people gave him credit for. However, just how serious a relationship he wanted theirs to be, Merlin could not quite tell...Arthur simply was not verbally communicative on that subject...or any other subject involving his personal life. On the other hand, there was no question that he was capable of warmth and tenderness. If he had been uncharacteristically rough during their last encounter (Merlin winced a little at the memory), he was being uncharacteristically gentle now, using his fingertips with a surgeon's delicacy.

Of course, to be fair, Merlin thought, while he could still think with clarity, _he_ had not been terribly communicative about _himself_ , either. In spite of their ease together, their comfortable camaraderie when they were alone, there were certain subjects that neither of them ever, ever mentioned.

_Why don't you ask him, Merlin, you coward? Ask him...where he sees this thing going._

_No...now really isn't the time. Besides, I know he wants to keep this a secret. That there's no way he's ever going to tell his friends...or his colleagues...or Uther, for that matter._

_Excuses, excuses._

"I hope Father didn't say anything unpleasant to you while he was here," Arthur mumbled, half asleep, a while later. "He's said plenty of hair raising things to other members of staff in the past."

"Oh no, not at all," Merlin replied with his eyes closed, his head resting against the comforting solidity of Arthur's chest. "He didn't even mention that mental affliction he joked about when he first interviewed me. Perhaps he'd forgotten all about it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was back to business as usual the following day, and the first order of business, now that Uther was gone, was to see to the packing of the manuscript that the Institute was lending to the Metropolitan Museum. The early thirteenth-century piece, a volume containing text and illustrations of various legends, including several Arthurian ones, was to be inspected by Merlin before being packed for the short trip to the Met. Upon arrival there, it would be uncrated and checked by their Medieval Department's conservator--presumably Valiant--before being put on display. The exhibition, entitled "The Age of Magna Carta," was due to open in late January.

"Be especially careful when you write up your condition report," Gaius said to Merlin. "This is for **The Met**."

"The Met--oh bollocks!" Merlin growled under his breath after Gaius was out of hearing range. Will was eyeing him curiously from the other side of the room, perhaps perplexed by Merlin's Harvard University Fencing Team sweatshirt.

It wasn't Merlin's sweatshirt, but Arthur's. With no change of clothing at Arthur's flat--he had moved everything of that nature back to his own place before Uther's arrival--he had come to work in this garment, of a deep Harvard crimson, which was obviously a bit too large for him.

("I thought you went to Oxford," Merlin had said that morning in surprise. "Oxford for my Bachelor's. Graduate study in the States, at Harvard," Arthur replied. "I was captain of the fencing team, naturally," he added smugly. "Naturally," Merlin had mumbled with only a touch of sarcasm.)

Poring carefully over the delicate manuscript, admiring the illustrations in rich colors with a wealth of gold leaf and the gorgeously illuminated capital letters, Merlin checked for flaking pigments or cracks in the parchment. He wasn't going to take any chances before turning the piece over to Valiant. Gaius had still failed to uncover any background material on the man's training, and Morgana continued to joke about Morgause's reasons for having hired him.

Having completed his condition check of the manuscript, Merlin left the piece in the Paper Conservation studio and went upstairs to his little office to write his report. This took him less than an hour, and he had one copy ready for Arthur's inspection well before his self-imposed deadline of noon.

When he delivered the report, neatly enclosed in a standard black notebook, to the Assistant Director's office, he found Arthur sitting behind his desk with a face like a stormcloud. He silently held out his hand for the report, and Merlin gave it to him.

"Arthur--are you alright?" Merlin stood back and prepared to be called an epic idiot, or to hear a complaint about something Morgana had done or an angry rant about insufficiant funds.

"I'm fine," snapped the Assistant Director with no change of expression. "Everything's lovely. Unless you count the email from my father, suggesting that I spend three months working in London after the opening of the Metropolitan's "Magna Carta" show. When it comes to ruining a perfectly good morning, he never ceases to amaze me."


	27. Confidences

* * *

About a week after Uther's departure, Morgause rang Arthur from the Metropolitan Museum. She and Valiant wanted to stop by the Institute and have a look at the manuscript the Met was borrowing for the "Age of Magna Carta" exhibition.

"That's fine, Morgause," Arthur said smoothly. "We'll be happy to accommodate both of you."

Which was something of a lie-no one at the Institute particularly wanted to see Valiant-but he had to be polite.

("I still say Valiant has fingers like sausages," Arthur muttered snidely to his junior conservator, and then cuffed Merlin's ear-gently-when he guffawed into his afternoon coffee.)

It also happened to be the week before Christmas, and most of the staff was getting Christmas eve, Christmas day, and Boxing Day off. The museum was only closed on Christmas, so the Security and Gift Shop staff were at liberty for just one day.

"What are you doing next week, Merlin?" Gwen asked her colleague curiously during lunch. As Lance was busy, she had joined Will and Merlin for their usual trek to the local Starbucks, and the three were eating sandwiches and drinking coffee at a table by the window. Outside, they could see passersby scurrying past in the frosty air, bags and parcels in their arms, looking harried and preoccupied as only people hastening to finish their holiday shopping could look.

"I don't have any plans," Merlin answered vaguely. "I thought I might catch up on some reading."

Since the day of Uther's suggestion, via email, that Arthur relocate to London for three months later in the winter, they had not discussed the issue, and Merlin was not going to say anything on the subject until Arthur did. However, they had already planned to spend Christmas and New Year's together-something Merlin was not likely to mention to his fellow conservators.

"Will's going home to Ealdor, aren't you, Will?" Gwen said. "Until after New Year's Day."

"I am," Will replied, staring at Merlin. "I don't know why Merlin isn't. The air fare wasn't half bad. Afraid to skive off during the holidays, are you?"

"I'm taking two weeks in the spring, that's the best time for my mum," his friend murmured, looking down at his sandwich.

"Well," Gwen said as cheerfully as she could. "I'm throwing a little Christmas eve party at my flat, and Morgana is throwing a huge New Year's eve party for the Motley Crew of Expatriate Brits and their friends. So you're more than welcome to come to those."

"Thanks," said Merlin without indicating whether he would or not.

Once their meal was over Will needed to pay a visit to his bank ("To tend to my terminally ill checking account!"), so Gwen and Merlin strolled back to the Institute together, looking into shop windows along the way, sometimes entertained by, and sometimes smirking at, the holiday displays and decorations they saw there.

"You know, Merlin," Gwen smiled. "We've all noticed that Arthur's changed a bit since...well, since you've been here. At least, most of us have noticed."

"Really?" Merlin said, doing his best to look clueless.

"He's more open than he used to be. Uh, more willing to listen to his staff. That bit with the fresco and the plexiglass-he never would have given in on something about which he felt so strongly. And he _never_ would have opened the matter to a vote."

"Really?" Merlin said again, looking at a window display with an enormous, laughing Santa Claus, rather than at Gwen.

"It's impressed everybody no end that you've never hesitated to speak your mind to him."

"Oh."

"Well," sighed Gwen gently. "All I meant to say is that you've been a good influence. That is, Arthur's a dear as far as I'm concerned, and he's been a supportive friend to me, always, but he's never been the most democratic of museum directors."

"If you're planning a revolution, you know, an overthrow of the crown prince," Merlin groaned, trying to lighten the moment, "don't look at me to give you a hand. I'm hopeless when it comes to battle formations or hand to hand combat-that's more in Lance's line, I expect. Or even Morgana's."

For some reason this struck Gwen as hugely funny, and she roared with laughter for the next several minutes until her mirth became contagious and Merlin began to laugh almost as heartily. They linked arms and practically zig-zagged the final block to the Institute, comparing mental images of Lance and Morgana suited up in armor, brandishing the weapons of their choice. They were snorting and blinking away tears, practically clutching each other for support, as they staggered into the building.

In the entrance hall they encountered Arthur, his hair gleaming like a helmet of gilded metal under the single floodlight.

"Unhand my conservator," Arthur said, furrowing his brow and smiling in amusement at the same time.

"Don't worry, love, I wouldn't dream of laying a hand on your property," Gwen replied, still giggling helplessly, but she spoke under her breath so that only Arthur and Merlin could hear. "Anyway, Lance would kill me if I did."

"Hey! What property!" Merlin interjected.

"We could make a little button for your lapel," murmured Gwen, continuing to giggle. "It could say: _Property of Arthur Pendragon. If found, please return to owner_."

"W-what? I couldn't possibly wear-"

"He couldn't possibly wear one, because he almost never has a bloody lapel," said Arthur. "I think Merlin has ten tee shirts for every jacket and dress shirt he owns. But it's a charming idea, I suppose."

Already regretting her own mock suggestion, Gwen rolled her eyes at Arthur's insensitivity and turned apologetically to Merlin. His cheeks and ears had flushed pink at the words "it's a charming idea," and he did not look particularly happy.

Gwen mentally kicked herself and chewed at her lower lip. Why had she gone and said such a thing? And bloody Arthur! She had only just been singing his praises for having changed.

"Arthur, for pity's sake. Oh Merlin, I _am_ sorry! Of course you're not anybody's property! I was just being silly," she murmured hastily.

Feeling just a little guilty-Gwen was right, and he had been thoughtless, although only in jest-Arthur nudged Merlin's arm with his elbow and mimed putting a gun to his own head. Then he watched as the mutinous expression slowly faded from his conservator's face, to be replaced by a sheepish grin.

"It's-it's okay, Gwen," Merlin said, stammering a little, his grin broadening. "If I haven't learnt by now that everybody in this place is utterly daft, I never will."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

" _Mer_ lin, how did you come by the name of Emrys?"

Arthur was propped up on one elbow, watching his conservator's blue eyes gradually come back into focus. With the appreciative air of a good museum director and art historian, his own eyes traveled the length of the pale neck and sloping shoulders, the ivory torso on which the ribs showed, all lightly dewed with sweat that shone faintly in the light from the bedside lamp Arthur had just switched on.

"And you call _me_ an idiot," Merlin said, his breathing beginning to slow a little. "I came by it from my father, naturally."

"I know _that_ ," murmured Arthur, running the tip of one finger from Merlin's brow down the length of his slender nose, to the outward curve of his lush upper lip.

"He was half Welsh," Merlin added, in explanation.

"What was he like?"

Merlin was so astonished by both questions that he nearly sat bolt upright. This was a first-they **_never_** talked about these things.

"I never knew him, Arthur," he said after a moment's pause. "I don't know much about him at all, except that he worked in the field I'm in now. Oh, and he was an excavator as well, with an archaeological team."

"Does...does your mother never speak of him?"

"Hardly ever. I think she loved him. She missed him when he left."

"Oh...sorry, I didn't know," Arthur said, realizing that this sounded stupid, because _of course_ he wouldn't have known.

"And your mother? Do you...remember her?" Merlin asked, trying to keep his voice steady because this was uncharted territory for both of them. His heart was pounding and he felt as though there was a tight knot somewhere in the region of his chest.

"She died when I was born. Father won't talk about her. Her name was Igraine. I've a photograph, she was blonde and beautiful."

"Rather like you, then," Merlin whispered, hearing his own voice growing softer, his accent more pronounced. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, determined not to let Arthur see just how moved he was. This was the first time they had ever shared personal information of this sort with each other, and he could feel the knot in his chest beginning to loosen, by degrees.

When he dared to look up, he found that Arthur was smiling at him. The lamplight behind his head turned his hair into a halo of all shades of gold.

"Father married Morgana's mother when I was quite young. I'd known Morgana before, just a little, but then we grew up together, shuttling back and forth between London and New York and my relatives in Devon, and as you can see, when we're not fighting we get on rather well."

Merlin chuckled. "You fight all the time."

"You're a fine one to talk," Arthur grinned, tapping him with one finger, in the space between his collarbones where tiny pearls of sweat still glistened. "Your retorts are almost as snarky as hers are." His finger lingered a moment and then began to slide south.

"I'm _ticklish_ ," Merlin said sternly, with his eyes half closed.

"Ah. That's good to know, _Mer_ lin," Arthur's grin had gotten wider, displaying the pointed eye teeth that gave an element of offbeat charm to his otherwise flawlessly carved, classic good looks.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Merlin mumbled as Arthur's finger continued to move. "A good museum director doesn't take advantage of his colleagues' weaknesses. But then you've always been-O _h!_ "

"I hope my hand isn't cold," said Arthur, trying, and failing, to sound apologetic.

The fingers of one of Merlin's own hands were clenched in the blankets. Arthur disengaged the fingers from their tight grip and relocated the hand.

"Erm...again?... _Already_?"

"You consistently underestimate me," Arthur replied with a touch of pride, switching off the lamp for the second time that night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Are we ready for Valiant?" Morgana asked briskly as she passed Arthur in the hallway.

"As ready as we'll ever be. Why does he look such a great brute? I don't see why anybody should be concerned about what he thinks. He can't possibly hold a candle to Merlin. Or...or to any of our other conservators, of course."

Morgana sighed. "We're concerned about what he thinks because he works for the bloody Met. That's the only reason, as you well know. By the way, have you spoken to Uther about his plans for you to go to London?"

"Father's plans can wait," Arthur murmured evasively. "They can wait indefinitely, as far as I'm concerned."

"So I should think," Morgana snapped. "Now stepbrother dear, when Morgause and Mr Valiant arrive, I'll talk to them for a bit in my office and then bring them down to Paper Conservation. You'll be joining us there, I suppose."

"That's brilliant," said Arthur with a wry smile. "Yes, you take care of them-you're the only one who really gets on well with Morgause. I'll meet all of you downstairs, as you said."

"I'm sure Merlin's ready," Morgana went on calmly. "You'd think he'd be able to charm Morgause, but then again, she has odd tastes in men-witness Valiant. Gaius is on pins and needles. He's rather suspicious of this fellow, you know."

"I can't say I blame him," Arthur replied. "But he'll be there. To keep an eye on our manuscript. And to protect his hatchling, in the event that Valiant says anything nasty. Not that Merlin needs any protecting."

"Not while you're here, you mean," Morgana said archly. "I'll see you downstairs, in about an hour."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

One of the first things that Merlin noticed about Valiant was the way his tongue periodically flicked out to lick his lips, in an almost reptilian fashion. Perhaps Morgause Lothian found this peculiar, snakelike habit erotic? For whatever reason, the Pendragon Institute staff members present in the Paper Conservation studio simply found it annoying. Valiant was also more physically imposing than Merlin remembered from their first meeting, more subtly aggressive in his manner.

As he went over the fine points of his work on the thirteenth-century manuscript for Valiant's benefit, speaking softly and clearly, he made a point not to look at the man's fingers-no, really, he wouldn't be able to keep from laughing after what Arthur had said about sausages. Then he asked how the Metropolitan was planning to display the piece, and Valiant answered in his level, slightly rasping voice, whilst Morgause provided photographs of the exhibition space, and the case they had decided to use.

Gaius stood by, nodding his head politely, but Merlin could tell that he was still skeptical on the subject of Valiant's professional competence.

"Well, my boy," Valiant said, as smooth as oil, when he shook Merlin's hand prior to taking his leave. "I appreciate your showing me what you've done with this piece. Nice work, very nice indeed."

Merlin blinked at the condescension in the words "my boy," and stole a look at the Assistant Director, whose eyes had rolled towards the ceiling lights. But he inclined his head courteously and walked Valiant to the door of the studio, Morgause trailing behind them as she chatted with Morgana. Gaius and Arthur exchanged sardonic looks before Arthur followed the little party upstairs.

"Well, Merlin!" Gaius muttered once the door had closed behind the visitors. "Thank God that's over with! Now we can make arrangements to have the piece packed-after the holidays, that is. Which reminds me, we've got the staff holiday party on Monday, and-Merlin?"

His eyebrows shot upwards in surprise and concern at the sight of his young colleague's quivering shoulders, but then he realized that, far from being upset, the young man was trying very hard to contain his laughter.

"And what is so amusing, may I ask?" Gaius rapped out in an attempt to sound disapproving.

"A-Arthur was right," sputtered Merlin, coughing. "H-his fingers _are_ like sausages! And his fists are like hams. The man belongs in a boxing ring, not a Conservation workroom."

"As to that," Gaius said with satisfaction, "I fancy he'd meet his match in our Assistant Director. Did you know that Arthur did some boxing at school? I think he could-oh for heaven's sake, Merlin, stop it!"

He sighed in exasperation and stalked across the Paper Conservation studio, leaving Merlin leaning over a worktable, pounding it with one hand and wiping his streaming eyes with the other.


	28. Holiday Revelations

As Arthur complained later, the weekend prior to Christmas week was like something out of a bad comic opera.

Upon leaving the Institute on Friday, shortly after five, on his way to meet Merlin at a nearby bookstore, he was informed that the museum's alarm system had malfunctioned for the second time that year. This required a telephone call to some technicians, who had no desire to work late on a Friday night but were convinced to do so by the promise of double-the-usual-rate overtime pay. Leon (bless his heart) offered to stay and see to it that they actually fixed the problem.

Not long afterwards, when he arrived at his building with a bag of groceries in one arm and Merlin in tow, Arthur found a holiday card from Uther in his mailbox. The card itself bore a severe image of London in a snowstorm, and inside, beneath the printed holiday greeting, the words "Have a Happy Christmas. We should discuss **your upcoming stay** in London soon," had been written in Uther's dark, bold cursive.

No sooner had he gotten into his flat than he discovered an email from Mordred on his home computer, that read: _Dear Arthur, could you please give me Merlin's email address? I want to ask him some questions about his work. It's very interesting and I think I might like to study that sort of thing at university, when I get there. Please don't tell Father, as I don't think he approves. Mordred._

"What in blazes is he on about?" Arthur muttered.

"What do you suppose that last sentence means?" Merlin asked. "Does he mean Uther doesn't approve of him studying art conservation? Or does it mean he doesn't approve of _me_?"

The final straw of the evening was discovering that the the lady at the supermarket check-out counter had remembered to put Merlin's lactose-free milk in their shopping bag but had neglected to do the same with Arthur's chocolate chunk ice cream.

All of this had Arthur feeling so unhinged that he stayed in bed until very late (nearly eleven) Saturday morning, and insisted that Merlin keep him company there.

Then there was the matter of the holiday gift giving. Arthur made a point of giving every employee-and the volunteers as well-token presents every winter holiday, and this year was to be no different.

Morgana had kindly offered to do Arthur's holiday shopping for him, knowing how much he hated to brave the overcrowded shops during this particular season. She herself descended upon small, pricey boutiques and large, all-encompassing department stores alike, armed with her credit cards and a genuine love of the game. She had already done a great deal of her own gift-buying online, but to purchase Arthur's gifts for his Institute coworkers, she braved long lines at check-out counters and bullied shop assistants to her heart's content.

Having done all of this, she piled her purchases into a taxi cab and delivered them personally to Arthur's flat on Saturday evening, certain that she would be rewarded with gratitude and a very strong drink.

What she hadn't expected was that Arthur and Merlin would be in the shower.

Morgana rang the doorbell repeatedly for several minutes before losing her temper and pounding ferociously on the door. Eventually it was opened by a scowling Arthur, a towel draped around his waist and a pool of water collecting on the floor around him.

"This is the second time you've come to the door half-naked," she said plaintively as she dragged her parcels into the living room. "I knew you were at home; I could here sounds through the door. For God's sake, dry yourself off, you're dripping all over the gifts. I've been ringing the bell for ages. Why on earth does it take you so long to shower?"

"Don't talk to me about taking a long time in the shower," Arthur protested. "Remember the house in London? Where you used to loll about in the bathtub for hours, and spend at least another hour doing all of those female things with makeup and curling irons?"

There was a muffled crash from the direction of Arthur's bedroom, and Morgana's expression changed from irritated to amused.

"Oh...that will be Merlin, I expect," she said, grinning at Arthur's slightly flushed countenance. "Well, that explains it then...the time-consuming shower, I mean."

Arthur groaned. "It's not as if I was expecting you. You never said anything about bringing these...these _things_ here this evening."

"There's gratitude for you," Morgana went on. "I've been on my feet all day, buying _things_ so that _you_ can give them to _other_ people. Now, please go and put something on. You may be a looker, stepbrother dear, but this is something I really don't care to see. However, if Merlin would like to come out here with no clothes on, I wouldn't mind a bit."

"Good God, Morgana," Arthur exploded. "Can't you be satisfied with getting your claws into Leon? Must you fantasize about every attractive male-"

"There, there, Arthur, I was only joking," soothed his infuriating stepsister, gingerly patting his damp forearm. "You know I was. Now stop being so possessive. Merlin's quite lovely, everybody thinks so, but he's all yours. You must be aware that no one else would dare to touch him. Of course, there's nothing wrong with just _looking_."

Arthur subsided, grumbling, as several loud thumps announced Merlin's progress from the bedroom to the kitchen. Moments later, he appeared in the living room, yawning and-to Arthur's relief-fully dressed in jeans and a midnight blue hoodie, wet hair gleaming but spiky and rumpled, eyes sparkling but definitely sleepy.

"Merlin," Morgana said fondly, giving the young man such an intimate smile that Arthur ground his teeth. "I don't know how in blazes you can put up with Arthur, but I'm very happy that you do. You know, you're doing him a world of good."

"Is that so?" Arthur growled sarcastically. "So we're going in for amateur psychology now, are we? I'd much rather you simply shut up."

"About the staff holiday party on Monday," Morgana said, paying no attention, "Gwen's been organizing it this year, with help from those delightful young volunteers from the Library and the Gift Shop. I've gotten them all little gifts. The food's been ordered, so I think everything's ready. Lance and Leon wanted Gaius to dress up as Santa, but he's absolutely refused to consider it. Now, as neither of you gentlemen has thought to offer me a drink, I'm going to get one myself."

Arthur smirked and stayed where he was, but Merlin went immediately to the sideboard and poured a generous amount of The Famous Grouse into one of Arthur's heavy crystal glasses. When he handed it to Morgana she patted his hand affectionately, causing the corners of Arthur's mouth to turn down.

"You don't have any more of that nice Kentucky bourbon?" she asked, after an appreciative sip. "By the way, I've put sticky labels on all the gifts so you know which is for whom. You'll have to wrap them yourself, though, I didn't have the time and I've my own presents to wrap tomorrow."

"Thank you, Morgana," Arthur muttered reluctantly, standing up. He disappeared for several minutes, during which time Merlin and Morgana sat in comfortable silence, and reappeared wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt, scrubbing at his hair with a towel. "It was...kind of you, I'd never have been able to manage. We've had dinner, but if you're hungry-"

Merlin had perched on an arm of the sofa, and Arthur unconsciously reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, running it gently up to rest on the nape of his neck. Merlin froze. This was the first time Arthur had touched him in the presence of another person-even if it was only Morgana, the one individual to whom they had in some way (if not verbally) acknowledged their connection. Merlin's eyes met Morgana's, and her gaze flickered to Arthur's hand and then softened, the same thought doubtless running through her own mind.

"No, no, I won't stay," she answered her stepbrother quietly. "Far be it from me to intrude on...on your evening at home. Now I'm off to meet...someone...for a late-night movie."

"Don't tell me about it," Arthur sighed, giving her a dark look. "I don't want to hear about your private life any more than I want you to hear about mine."

"Tell Leon I returned his flashlight-I put it on his desk before I left," Merlin whispered to Morgana as she headed out the door.

"Thank you, Merlin," she whispered back, just before closing it.

"No whispered conversations between yourself and Morgana, please," said Arthur with a half smile. "No exchange of secrets, if you don't mind."

"Who's exchanging secrets, you prat?" Merlin exclaimed indignantly. "I was just talking rubbish, like you always say I do."

"Fortunately," said Arthur, hooking one hand into the waistband of Merlin's jeans and yanking him closer, "I've found at least two foolproof methods for shutting you up."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Christmas week was marginally better.

The Institute's staff party was low key, as befitted a "company event" held during an economic recession, but it was a success in spite of the absence of luxury edibles and imported wine. A small choral group made up of security guards sang traditional carols. The high school girls who volunteered in the Library were thrilled to receive small, token gifts from the handsome Assistant Director, on whom nearly all of them had a major crush. (What they didn't know was that he had wrapped them himself, whilst Merlin watched, periodically dissolving into floods of laughter at the sight of Arthur struggling with ribbons, tissue paper, and tape.) There was a large bowl of non-alcoholic punch, several six-packs of beer that Leon had snuck into the building, various types of finger food, biscuits, chocolates, and two very large ring cakes frosted in an interesting shade of neon _green_.

"I swear, those things look poisonous," Gaius whispered, eyeing them with suspicion. " _Green_ cake?"

"They're meant to look like holiday wreaths," Merlin explained. "Gwen made them."

"Ah!" replied Gaius. "I'd best be quiet then."

On Christmas Eve, Gwen held her small dinner party for those members of staff who were her friends, and Arthur and Merlin arranged to arrive separately so as not to excite comment. There was a great deal of food and alcohol, and Arthur, who had been on edge since the arrival of Uther's Christmas card, had a bit too much of the latter. (Because of that, Merlin conscientiously refrained from drinking anything stronger than a glass or two of hard cider.) A good time was had by all, and Arthur was able to walk well enough to make his way to the sidewalk and hail a cab shortly before midnight.

"I'll see him to his flat, make certain he gets home safely," Merlin said loudly to the other partygoers as he climbed into the cab next to the Assistant Director.

"Safely?" murmured Arthur, his words only slightly slurred but his eyes already hooded. "There isn't one part of you that's going to be safe from me when we get home, Mr Emrys."

"You," said Merlin, smiling, "are not in a condition for anything but bed."

"That's what I'm talking about, you idiot!" Arthur replied with a kind of friendly savagery.

As it happened, Arthur was really too drunk to attempt any kind of amorous exercise, savage or otherwise, and Merlin tucked him into bed before brushing his teeth, washing his face, and putting his Christmas present for Arthur on the bedside table. Then he slid part way under the duvet and reached over Arthur to switch off the light.

"I'm still awake, _Mer_ -lin," Arthur mumbled, although it was obvious that he was barely conscious. Merlin leaned down and brushed his lips over Arthur's eyelids, the bridge of his imperious nose, and his mouth, before lying back on the pillows with a sigh of drowsy contentment. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt Arthur turn and shift onto his side, to curve himself protectively around Merlin's thin frame.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Happy Christmas, idiot."

"Ow," whispered Merlin, turning onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow. "It's too early to be shouting."

"It's ten o'clock, you git," said Arthur, sounding far too cheerful and wide awake for someone who should have been reeling with hangover. "So get up. That position is entirely too suggestive, anyway."

Merlin turned his head and peered at Arthur through his lashes. Astonishingly enough, Arthur was sitting on the edge of the bed in a pair of boxer shorts, his smooth chin and damp hair proving that he had already bathed and shaved.

"If you don't get up in ten seconds, I'll make you regret it."

Merlin fled to the bathroom, where he showered and brushed his teeth in record time, but did not bother to shave. When he emerged, still blinking and rubbing his eyes, he found Arthur vigorously shaking the small wrapped box Merlin had placed on the nightstand before going to sleep.

"Bristly," commented Arthur, running his fingers along Merlin's unshaved cheek and jaw. "Scratchy. I wonder what that would feel like against my-"

"You can open it if you want to," Merlin interrupted, gesturing at the gift. "It isn't much...but they're something you seem to make use of."

"They?" said Arthur, raising his eyebrows as he tore off the ribbon and wrappings. Then he laughed. Nestled inside the box, on a bed of cotton, was a pair of heavy gold cufflinks, each set with a blue stone the color of Arthur's eyes.

"Since you seem to lose yours on a regular basis," Merlin said, his eyes modestly downcast. "Remember?"

"Here's something," Arthur mumbled, attempting to sound casual as he tossed a wrapped object of roughly the same size into Merlin's lap. "Open it, go on."

Merlin dealt with the wrappings much more neatly than Arthur had, and opened the hinged box he found within. His breath caught and eyelashes fluttered as he lifted out the small signet ring, set with a red stone engraved with a single dragon. It matched the ring Arthur wore on his right hand.

Arthur chewed on his lower lip. "I hope it fits," he murmured, not meeting Merlin's eyes. "I went to the bank and got it out of my safe deposit box last week. Everybody in my family has one-Father, Mordred, me. Even Morgana, though she's technically not a Pendragon. This was, um, my mother's. It was mine to save until...well."

Merlin's fingers were slender and the ring did indeed fit. He looked up at Arthur with an unreadable expression, and opened his mouth but no sound came out.

"You are half asleep today," Arthur snapped, but he was smiling. "I'd throw water over you, except that you've only just got out of the shower."

"Arthur...this...you...it's..." Merlin managed to say in a hesitant voice.

"Don't look so panicked, for pity's sake," Arthur replied. "I mean, it's not as though we're _engaged_ or anything."

"It's beautiful," Merlin whispered. "Are you certain I ought to have this? If it was your..."

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur said with mock irritation. "It was either this or take Gwen's suggestion. You know, the button reading _Property of Arthur Pendra_ -" He ducked as Merlin flung all the pillows at him, pleased to see that he was smiling with genuine pleasure. Easily overpowering his much slighter conservator, he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a secure embrace.

Merlin rested his brow against Arthur's. "Thank you," he murmured. His eyes squeezed shut and his pillowy lips tightened. "I love it. I love you."

He had said it. The relief was so great that he unconsciously gave a great, shuddering sigh, but he did not look up. Arthur made no reply, but Merlin had not expected him to. He simply tightened his embrace for a moment, and then kissed Merlin on the forehead.

"I don't know what I would do without you," he said gruffly, and Merlin knew that this was as close to an admission of feelings as he was going to get. So he raised his eyes and smiled, and moments later they were both out of bed and dressed, rummaging in the kitchen for the breakfast food that Arthur could remember having purchased the day before.

* * *

 


	29. If We Could Time-Travel

It actually snowed on Christmas night, a fairly rare occurance in New York City, and for several hours the pavements and avenues looked pure and pristine, blanketed with silvery white drifts that glowed under the streetlights. It was certainly this serene, timeless beauty that encouraged Arthur to put on a pair of boots, find another pair for Merlin, and drag his reluctant conservator out of doors at ten p.m.

The snowy cityscape had looked otherworldly and romantic from the window, but the reality was somewhat less so. Arthur found himself knee deep in wet snow, quantities of which seemed to pile into his boots of its own accord, pulling a protesting Merlin-whose boots were equally snow-logged-by the arm. There were few other pedestrians outside at that hour, except for a handful of couples on their way home from boozy Christmas parties, and a group of teenagers who pelted them with snowballs. Eventually they were forced to go back indoors, wincing and shivering with every step.

Checking his computer for emails, Arthur found holiday greetings from friends in London, and a second message from Mordred, which he read out loud with Merlin peering over his shoulder.

_Dear Arthur, I hope you and Merlin had a happy Christmas-_

"What does that mean, **you and Merlin**?" Arthur snorted. "What makes him think I spent Christmas with you?"

"He's a lot sharper than anybody gives him credit for," replied Merlin quietly. "And I'm not just talking about university-level physics. I think he had things sorted out long before he left New York. But I doubt he said anything to your father. That wouldn't be like him."

Arthur wrinkled his brow. "It looks as though you can read him better than I can, then," he said drily, but returned to the email without waiting for a response.

_-and that you got lots of presents. I got computer games from my mates, but they're all too easy for me. Please don't forget to send me Merlin's email. Father seems a bit upset, but he doesn't say anything, as usual. He wants you to come to London, but I think you should do what you want. Do not worry, as I don't think he would ever sack Merlin-_

Merlin groaned and put his head in his hands, but Arthur suspected he was laughing.

_-would ever sack Merlin. Father believes you should marry a society lady with one of those old names from the history books, but I think that's stupid. Have you any extra Hershey's choc bars? Could you send them please, as Father won't let me have any more. Mordred._

"Good God!" said Arthur, staring at the screen.

"I'm speechless," Merlin chuckled, and Arthur shot him a look.

"That'll be the day," he muttered sarcastically. "Of course, there _were_ times when I thought that silence would be a blessing with you."

"Well, send him those choc bars! Merlin said, still chuckling. "And you can send him my email as well; I don't mind."

Arthur looked puzzled. "I do believe he thinks he's found some sort of kindred spirit in you," he said slowly. "He's a peculiar child-intellectually way ahead of his peers, and I know he freaks people out a bit--he almost never smiles--but it's not easy for him to find friends who have anything in common with him. Perhaps he sees you as someone who's on the same wave length as himself."

" _You're_ certainly not," Merlin interjected with a grin, tapping Arthur's chest with his forefinger.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Idiot!" he grumbled, but he said it with affection and proceeded to rumple Merlin's hair with his knuckles until his victim protested loudly, extricating himsefl from Arthur's headlock with difficulty.

Somehow the evening concluded with Arthur boxing up a dozen Hershey's chocolate bars to mail to his half-brother, after obligingly sending Merlin's email address and an admonition to avoid eating the chocolate all at once, as this would give him spots and quite possibly a stomach ache. He and Merlin had a very late and very quiet dinner, avoiding the subject of London but joking about what their colleagues from the Institute must be doing ("Morgana is probably chasing Leon around the bedroom as we speak!") and the upcoming loan of their manuscript to the Metropolitan Museum ("I hope they're not going to let that great brute Valiant handle it any more than is necessary!"). Merlin was wearing the Pendragon signet ring, and Arthur wondered what the staff of the Institute would imagine, or say, when they saw it. While he had not acknowledged their relationship to his colleagues, he knew that most of them had guessed by this time, and found--to his surprise--that he didn't much care what they thought. But that morning...Merlin had verbalilzed his own feelings, had said "I love you." And he, Arthur, had said nothing in reply.

He tried to shrug away feelings of guilt. _Arthur, you ass, he's told you he loves you, and you say nothing? You can't deny that you feel the same. That you want to be with him, value his company, don't want anyone else to have him. You'll have to tell him sometime._ Yes, well. Sometime. Just not this time...not yet. He knew that Merlin was not expecting any proclamations from him-and that in itself made him feel guilty.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Not long after one in the morning they climbed into bed. Perhaps Arthur's conflicting emotions showed on his face, for Merlin--who had been watching him carefully--made an effort to lighten the moment. As Arthur reached for him, he stopped him with a hand on his chest, and asked with a charmingly quizzical look, "I was just thinking...rubbish, of course. If we could time-travel, where would you choose to go?"

Arthur's eyebrows shot upward. "You're asking me this _now_?"

"Well-it may sound odd, but I was just trying to imagine you in chain mail and a hauberk."

"Really," Arthur snorted, frowning a little with the effort of imagining such a thing. "And I suppose I'm to envision you in a cotte and hose? Do I look particularly medieval, for pity's sake?"

"Well, you do, rather," came the reply. "And no, I don't think that a cotte and hose would suit me. But if I could time-travel, that's a period in history I'd be curious to visit. I mean, we're completely surrounded by the art, at the Institute. It makes you wonder...how people lived then. I wouldn't mind a quick visit,"

"I'll see you when you get back, _Mer_ lin" said Arthur with a reluctant grin. "Not my style at all. No amenities to speak of. No running water. No electricity. No antibiotics. No decent doctors. No _bathing_. Ah--we're forgetting--no lactose-free milk." His eyes softened as he looked at the young face close to his own, the screen of black lashes above those beautiful cheekbones, the hollow cheeks, bow-shaped upper lip, and oh, those ears...

"Where would you go, then? Given the choice?" Merlin's hand was still on Arthur's chest, just above his heart, and he could feel the steady beat beneath his palm. Even as he spoke, it quickened a little.

"The only place I want to go right now is here," Arthur said, patting the bed for emphasis. "And leave the light on," he added, before pulling his conservator down on top of him.

It quickly became obvious that Arthur was intent on making up for his comatose state of the night before, so Merlin put aside all musings on time-travel and focused all of his attention on the here and now.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Merlin," said Gaius, catching his young colleague by the arm as he walked into the entrance hall of the Institute the morning after Boxing Day. "I trust you had a pleasant holiday?"

Merlin glanced curiously at the senior conservator, whose expression was unusually animated, eyes wide and assymmetrical eyebrows raised to alarming heights.

"Gaius? What is it?"

"I attended a dinner with some old friends during the holiday," Gaius replied, lowering his voice as two of the ladies from the Gift Shop strolled by. "One of them knows the conservator who was sacked by the Metropolitan Museum--the one who was replaced by Valiant. I got the entire story of what happened, why the unfortunate fellow was sacked, and how Valiant came to be hired."

"Oh?"

"It appears this conservator was working on a thirteenth century bound volume, I forget what it was exactly, a book of hours, or a psalter, or something like that. When he had almost completed his work, it was discovered that a page had been damaged, severely damaged, by the application of too much parchment sizing, or some other material. As this poor fellow was the only person known to be working on the piece, the blame pretty much fell on him. He was let go, and Morgause urged the museum's Director to let the Medieval Department hire Valiant in his place."

"Ah! And who was it who discovered the damage to the manuscript?"

"Valiant. He was working in their Conservation studio on a year-long Fellowship. He was the one who...discovered the problem."

"No doubt," said Merlin rather grimly. "That doesn't surprise me in the least."

"And we're turning our Legends manuscript over to his care in, what, two weeks? I don't like it."

"Nor do I."

"Don't like what?" asked the Assistant Director, strolling across the entrance hall, a large Starbucks cup in one hand, Lance and Gwen several paces behind him. "I hope you're not talking about the Institute's vacation policy."

"No, we're talking about Valiant," Merlin said in a subdued tone of voice. Then, "Hey! No open beverages in the museum galleries! Your rules!"

He pointed accusingly at the Starbucks _venti_.

"It's empty," Arthur replied, loftily. "I was just about to get rid of it. Now what's this about Valiant? Is he coming to watch when we pack the Legends manuscript?"

"I hope not," Gaius began, but then his head turned sharply as he stared at the museum entrance. The others followed his gaze and stood stock still with surprise.

Morgana and Leon walked through the door arm in arm, heads bent towards each other as they spoke in an undertone, their eyes flickering in the direction of the five staff members watching them. Then their arms disengaged, and they took each other's hands for a moment, Morgana's jeweled fingers entwining themselves with Leon's. They stood still for several seconds before releasing their hold, and then Morgana strode off in the direction of her office, while Leon headed for the stairs that led down to the Security Department.

"Oh," said Merlin, astonished, and stole a look at Arthur. The Assistant Director's expression was blank, but his eyebrows had drawn together just a little, and he shrugged his shoulders before disappearing down the hall to his own office. Gwen and Lance were grinning openly.

"That has got to be a first for Morgana," Gaius whispered to Merlin, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and apprehension. "I imagine Arthur will have something to say to her before the day's over. I don't think he'll mention anything to Uther, but still! She knows her stepfather's unwritten rules about--she-"

There was a sudden pause, as Gaius' gaze took in the signet ring on Merlin's right hand.

"Well, well," he continued, after raising his eyes to Merlin's face. "It seems we have something of a revolution in the making, doesn't it? No, Merlin, don't say anything. I really don't think my old brain can handle any more changes in one day."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Well, Morgana," Arthur said, looking down at his desk and then raising his eyes to meet his stepsister's. She was standing on the other side of his desk, and her eyes met his with a calm defiance.

"I've heard the Valiant story, if that's what you wanted to talk about," she said cooly. "It's all over the Institute since Gaius told Lance this morning. I can't say it surprises me. And I don't like the idea of him handling our manuscript, but short of making a scene I don't know how we can get out of it. The loan's been promised for ages."

"No, Morgs," Arthur said heavily, sitting down and gesturing to Morgana to do the same. "That isn't what I wanted to discuss. And no, I'm not going to talk about your...your romance with Leon either. It isn't any of my business, as I'm sure you'd be quick to point out. There is one aspect of it, though, that you'll have to face. You're doing this openly now, and everybody will know. I shouldn't be surprised if there will be photos in the society pages of magazines and the like, eventually. The word will get back to Father, and you know what that means."

"Oh," said Morgana conversationally. "What you mean is, I shouldn't do this openly, I should keep my relationships unofficial, clandestine, and below board, as you've been doing with our newest conservator. My dear stepbrother, how snobbish of you. I don't care what Uther thinks. I'm not ashamed to be seen with a member of the Security staff. Nor should I be. And if Uther complains, I can always dangle Leon's university degree in literature in his face."

"Oh for God's sake, Morgana! I'm thinking of Leon as well as of you. I like the man, he's an excellent Head of Security, and I wouldn't want Father to sack him. And you know I've never been secretive about my relationships, until...until..."

"Until now," Morgana said. "Until Merlin. And you're afraid to be open about it, to even acknowledge having a relationship with him, because he works for you and you're afraid people will say you bullied him into it. And because of Uther's stupid unwritten rule. And because you know Uther would disapprove...no, would hit the ceiling if he found out."

"I have the feeling he's already guessed," Arthur said soberly. "And that's why he's after me to go to London. Of course he wouldn't approve. He's looking to me to produce the next generation of Pendragon museum directors."

"Oh, the silly man! Why can't Mordred do it?"

Arthur couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. The thought of a reserved and icy Mordred-no matter how good looking he would undoubtedly grow up to be-playing the lover with some besotted girl had him nearly doubled over with amusement.

"Look at Gwen and Lance! Uther's never complained about their little in-house romance."

"We've been through this before," Arthur said patiently. "They were lovers _before_ they began working here. They didn't hook up whilst on the job. And Father cares less about that because, although they're employees, they have no familial ties to him. _We're_ family, Morgana, that's why the rule holds for us more than for anybody else."

"Because he wants to oversee our mating habits, you mean," Morgana said drily. "Well, in the old days, kings and emperors monitored the rutting of their offspring. Someone should remind Uther that this is the twenty-first century."

Arthur sighed. 'I'm not going to say anything to Father, naturally," he murmured. "He's always been a bit overprotective of you anyway. Well, you can consider yourself warned. About Father's reaction, that is, not about me. _I_ certainly have no objection to your affection for Leon."

Morgana's posture relaxed and she smiled at him. "Thank you Arthur, I'm happy to hear it. Of course you owe me that much; I've always been very supportive of your, uh, of you and Merlin. In any event, I think it will be a while before Uther hears about my transgression. Let's go to Gaius' office and talk to him about this Valiant business. I don't like it one bit, but I think our hands are tied with regard to that manuscript loan. And to think that I've always admired Morgause, thought she had a level head on her shoulders. Well, this proves that she's just as much ruled by her...um, by certain parts of her anatomy as anybody else."


	30. All Work and No Play

If the staff of the Pendragon Institute was in a state of mild shock, nobody said anything to anybody about the interesting post-holiday revelations. If they smiled a little when Morgana was seen to be talking with Leon, they were careful not to let her see it. And if they looked sideways at the Pendragon signet ring Merlin wore on his right hand, they did so very circumspectly. Naturally, no one dared say anything to the Assistant Director, who treated both his stepsister and his junior conservator the way he always had within the confines of the museum.

As for the signet ring, Merlin might as well have been wearing the button once jokingly suggested by Gwen, reading _Property of Arthur Pendragon_. If his tone of voice was politely neutral when he addressed the Assistant Director--that is, unless they were having one of their frequent work related arguments--and if he and Arthur never arrived at the Institute in each other's company, none of this fooled his colleagues in the slightest. Even Will, one of the last holdouts, more or less resigned himself to the reality of his old friend's romantic alliance. On their first day back from the brief Christmas holiday, he and Merlin had made their customary trek to Starbucks for lunch, saying very little along the way. However, once seated, Will had turned to his friend with a reluctant grin, nudged him in the ribs, and said almost apologetically, "So...is he any good, then?"

Merlin laughed but changed the subject, to Will's disappointment.

"Will doesn't like me much, does he?" Arthur asked Merlin several nights later. "Is it jealousy, or is he a surrogate big brother?"

"Oh, don't mind Will, that's just his way," Merlin replied, struggling to remove Arthur's infamous cufflinks. "He's always been protective of me. Ever since I was a scrawny thirteen year old newly arrived in Ealdor and some of the boys at school threatened to beat me up."

"Did they?"

"What, hurt me? No, Will took on a couple of them, and I managed to trip up one of the biggest boys -purely by accident. I had no idea what I was doing. He took a spectacular fall, so the others assumed I knew some kind of kung fu or something, and left me alone after that."

"Well, that's a relief," commented Arthur, now freed of his cufflinks. "I don't like to think of you being bullied by anybody but me."

"How kind of you," Merlin snorted, dragging his sweatshirt over his head. "I suppose I should feel privileged."

"No, not necessarily," Arthur replied modestly. "Here, you can feel _this_ instead."

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The end of the year was a quiet one, apart from Morgana's New Year's eve party, a huge affair even more elaborate than her Thanksgiving dinner party had been. The staff of the Institute was present, as were Morgana's friends from the New York area, and the hostess, stunning in a backless black dress and emerald pendant, strolled amongst her guests, hand in hand with Leon, making no effort to hide the nature of their friendship. The food for this event was catered--there were far too many guests for Morgana to do the cooking herself--and Will had offered to mix and serve drinks. The party broke up at around two a.m., and as he left the flat with Merlin, Arthur could see that Leon was definitely ensconced for the night.

The following week was all work and very little play, as the staff of the Pendragon Institute dealt with a massive influx of loan requests--every museum in the States and Europe seemed to want to borrow the Sicilian fresco--and with preparations for the loan of their Legends manuscript to the Metropolitan Museum. The professional art packers spent an afternoon in the Paper Conservation studio, measuring the manuscript for a custom-made wooden case for its short trip to the Met, only a few blocks away. (A day after its arrival at the Met, the case would be opened, with Morgana, and no doubt Valiant, in attendance.)

At the staff meeting on the day before the loan was due to be picked up and trucked to the Metropolitan, Arthur informed his senior staff that they had been invited to the opening night reception for the Met's exhibition, "The Age of Magna Carta," in which their Legends manuscript was to be featured. The black tie reception would be followed by cocktails and a sit-down dinner (to which they were also invited), at which Morgause would say a few words. After witnessing the groans and eye-rolling that greeted this announcement, Arthur sighed and ended the meeting abruptly.

"I am _not_ wearing a dinner jacket, I mean a tux," Merlin whispered to Gwen. "I'm not spending a fortune on something I'm almost never going to use."

"You are so going to wear a tux," Gwen retorted. "You need one, even if you only wear it once a year."

Merlin frowned but said nothing in reply.

"I can't imagine Morgause has included me in the invitation," Leon murmured to Arthur as the staff began to trickle out of the room. He, Merlin, and Lance had lingered behind, as had Morgana and Gwen. "Not someone from Security."

"Well, _I'm_ including you," Arthur said shortly. "Morgause asked me for a list of people to invite, and I put your name on it."

Leon appeared mildly embarrassed, but Morgana gave her stepbrother a look of approval. Then she glanced around the room and nudged Gwen surreptitiously. Arthur was still seated behind his desk, Lance lounged nearby, and Merlin--fiddling self-consciously with his neck scarf--stood hesitantly by the door, where Leon stopped to exchange a few words with him.

"This lineup is too much," Gwen murmured, smiling. "Have you ever seen so much male eye candy in one place at one time?"

Her eyes traveled from the Assistant Director, handsome, athletic, and as blond as a movie Viking, to the striking, dark good looks of Lance, Merlin's lanky, faun-like beauty, and Leon's stalwart, fair-haired, bearded presence.

"I'd be drooling," Morgana replied with a touch of sarcasm, "if one of the lot wasn't my own irritating stepbrother. I really doubt that I'd ever stoop to perving on Arthur. I think I fancied him for about ten minutes when we were in our early teens. Still, I must admit, this group is enough to make any girl's hormones boil over."

"Spare me," said Arthur, who had overheard. Morgana glowered horribly in his direction and stalked out of the room, dragging Gwen behind her.

"What was all that about?" Lance asked as the door slammed behind them.

"The ladies think we're fit," Arthur said, grinning. "Isn't it nice to be appreciated?"

"You always have been," Lance replied. "Have you been varying your workout at the gym, or what?"

Arthur wasn't certain whether he would call what he did with Merlin a workout, but there was no question that he expended a great deal of energy doing it.

"They've got me on a new program with free weights," Lance continued, blithely oblivious to the Assistant Director's sudden blush. "Repetitive motion exercises, mostly."

Well yes, Arthur thought, shifting in his chair, there was quite a lot of repetitive motion involved in what he and Merlin--

"I'm starving!" called Leon from the doorway. "Is everybody going to stand about chatting, or can some of us go to lunch?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The following day, Gaius and Merlin watched carefully as one of the packers lifted the manuscript, which had been wrapped in tissue, and placed it in its foam-lined nest inside the small, custom-made crate. The lid of the crate was then fastened down with screws, and a long piece of tape placed over the top, forming a kind of seal. The word "packed" was then written on the tape. Before being opened at the Metropolitan, the tape would be checked. If it was intact, that would mean that no one had tampered with the crate, or tried to open it.

Before the packers took the crate off to their truck, Gaius noticed Merlin doing something with several small slips of brown paper. He pasted them over the edges of the _bottom_ of the crate, on all four sides, where they were so narrow as to be virtually invisible against the wood.

"Merlin," Gaius said curiously, "what _on earth_ are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing," Merlin replied calmly. "This is just a little experiment."

Gaius shrugged his shoulders and forgot about it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"The Royal Academy of Arts wants to borrow the Sicilian fresco," Arthur remarked to Merlin that evening. They had eaten a dinner made up of cobbled-together leftovers, and were contemplating going out for a walk, perhaps to a local cafe. Both were fidgety and restless from a day spent cooped up in the Institute with no lunch break to speak of--they had stayed in the building and worked through the lunch hour whilst others went out--and Arthur in particular felt the need to stretch his legs.

"The Royal Academy," Merlin said slowly, looking out of the window of Arthur's flat at the quiet, winter street below, lined with townhouses and brownstones. "The piece is stable enough to travel to London, if you think it's a good idea."

"Father's in favor of it, naturally," Arthur muttered. He was standing behind Merlin, looking over his shoulder at the wintry view, his hands resting lightly on Merlin's hipbones. "But I think it can wait, don't you? After all, we've only just installed the fresco here. Let the damn thing rest for a year at least, before we send it off to London. What do you say--you're the conservator?"

"I already told you," Merlin said, frowning. "It's stable enough to travel. So the decision is yours."

Arthur pulled Merlin back against him and pressed his face against the pale, boyish neck, inhaling Merlin's scent, faintly woodsy with the tiniest hint of something like clove.

"The bloody fresco can stay in New York for the next year," he said stiffly. "Now let's go out before I get too tired. What do you say to a stroll round the neighborhood and then a drink at the Boar's Head?"

Merlin smiled as he gently disengaged himself from Arthur's grip and reached for his jacket. "Can't you ever just say what you mean, Pendragon? No, wait, don't answer that...let's go, I could use some exercise...beyond what we usually do at this time of night."


	31. Scandal

**Chapter 31: Scandal**

It was cold, and sluggish flakes of snow mixed with slush were drifting past the windows of the Pendragon Institute. Lance and Gwen were sipping hot cocoa in the staff lounge, having just returned from a chilly luncheon outing, when Merlin appeared in the doorway, carrying a large shopping bag and looking decidedly dejected.

"What's that you've got there, mate?" Lance asked in a soothing voice, wondering what could have made his young colleague appear so downhearted and out of sorts.

Merlin looked as bedraggled as a black cat caught in the rain. Tiny, jewel-like drops of water hung from his eyelashes and the ends of his hair. He shrugged his shoulders, dislodging bits of slushy snow, and turned the bag so that the pair could read the Brooks Brothers name imprinted on one side.

"I bought a tux," he said in a voice of doom and collapsed onto an armchair. "I always swore I wouldn't buy one. I won't even tell you what the bloody thing cost."

"I had to buy one two years ago," Lance said sympathetically. "It nearly wiped out my weekly paycheck."

"I'm sure you'll look very handsome, Merlin," Gwen offered encouragingly. Her fellow conservator simply groaned.

"I'll look like an idiot," he replied, setting the bag down on the floor by his chair and kicking it like a five year old.

"Don't be silly," Gwen said severely. "You look splendid in black."

Merlin muttered something unintelligible that Gwen suspected might be a string of curses, but he smiled when she handed him a mug of cocoa, and several napkins with which to sponge away the meltwater that was beginning to drip from his spiky fringe of ice-coated black hair onto his face.

"Lance and Arthur will wear tuxes," she smiled. "Oh, and Will, and now I suppose Leon. Gaius--well that goes without saying. Morgana will wear some lovely gown with jewels to match, naturally, and I've got a new--"

The door to the staff lounge swung open and the Assistant Director strode through, Gaius just behind him. Both were unnaturally pale, and a muscle at the corner of Arthur's mouth twitched with tension.

"I've just had a call from the Metropolitan Museum," Arthur said tersely. "It's about our manuscript."

Three pairs of eyes turned to him instantly.

"It's damaged...there's a tear, a break, in the parchment," Arthur stated flatly. "Morgana was there when they uncrated it, and she saw it. One page is torn from the top almost all the way to the bottom. The Met is saying that it must have happened at our end, before it came to them."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The little group had moved their impromtu conference to Arthur's office, where Morgana, just back from witnessing the uncrating of the manuscript at the Metropolitan, joined them.

"There is no way," Gaius said quietly, one hand on Merlin's shoulder. "I watched that piece being packed and crated. Merlin and I looked it through from beginning to end before it was packed. Merlin was responsible for doing the condition check, and I know he did a thorough job. I'd wager my life on it."

"I'm not doubting Merlin," Arthur replied, his voice very low. "Not for a moment. I know he had nothing to do with the damage, and I know you had nothing to do with it, Gaius. The question is: how it happen, when, and where?"

"I watched them uncrate the manuscript, Arthur," Morgana said, almost in tears. "The crate was intact. The sealing tape across the top was intact. It hadn't been removed or cut. There isn't any way, short of witchcraft, that anyone opened the bloody crate and took the manuscript out and damaged it."

"What are they doing with the piece now, at the Met?"

"They said they can display the manuscript anyway, with undamaged pages open to view. That's what they're planning to do. If they do that, it can be included for the opening of the exhibition. But that isn't the point. Valiant says he can do restoration work on the damaged page, but-"

"No," said Merlin sharply. "Don't let him touch it. They shouldn't let him touch it."

"That's what I told them," Morgana snapped. "I told them not to touch it, to put it in a storage cabinet and lock it up until we--that is, Gaius and Merlin--can go and have a look at it."

"It's Friday," sighed Gaius. "They'll shut down their Conservation studios at five...we'll have to wait until Monday morning."

"That's okay," Morgana said. "I watched them lock the manuscript up in one of their cabinets--it's safe until then."

"The opening reception is on Thursday," Arthur murmured. "The timing couldn't be worse...or perhaps that's what whoever did this had in mind. There's no time to do any conservation work on the manuscript before the show opens, and if we tell them to withdraw the manuscript from their show, they'll make a public statement saying it was damaged in our museum, by our people."

"We'll look at it first thing on Monday," Merlin said quietly. "Gaius, Morgana, and I. And we'll need one of their conservators to be present--just not Valiant."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Merlin," said Arthur very softly. "It'll be alright."

For the greater part of the evening Merlin had been sitting in Arthur's kitchen, talking on the phone. He had gotten the number of Valiant's predecessor at the Met--the conservator who had been sacked, who was now working and living in Berlin. Having received an okay to telephone him--in spite of the time difference--Merlin did so and spent a good half hour discussing Valiant with him.

"Really," Arthur said. "Everything will work out."

Merlin glanced in his direction and Arthur was relieved to see that he looked less tense and agitated than he had earlier. He stood up stiffly, stretched, walked over to where Arthur stood in the kitchen doorway, and slid both arms around his waist, standing chest to chest.

"Thanks," he mumbled sleepily, putting his head down on Arthur's shoulder. "I think you're right...I think it will work out."

"Bed," said Arthur firmly, returning his conservator's embrace. "And I mean _to sleep_. You look exhausted."

Only faintly distracted by the sounds of Merlin splashing at the bathroom sink, Arthur sat down at the computer and checked his messages. Then he sent off a brief email to Uther.

_Dear Father, I hope you've enjoyed a pleasant holiday season. Thank you for your concern about my visit to London. Given the pressing nature of current events, and our full schedule for the coming months, I believe that any lengthy stay in London should be postponed indefinitely. I trust you will understand. Give my love to Mordred. Arthur._

Half an hour later, he switched off all the lights and made his way into the bedroom, where the bedside lamp was still on. Merlin was fast asleep under the duvet, his face only a little less pale than the linen, hair like a smudgy black star against the pillow. Arthur slid into the bed as carefully as he could, but the movement woke Merlin, who turned and smiled without opening his eyes. Arthur settled him comfortably against his shoulder, and Merlin, eyes still closed, raised his face to be kissed, like a child. Arthur kissed him, and switched off the light. He could feel Merlin's eyelashes flutter against his skin, a tiny, intimate caress.

"Goodnight," he heard Merlin whisper, his voice fuzzy with drowsiness.

"Goodnight, Merlin," Arthur whispered back. "Are you-?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Merlin said, his voice fading away against Arthur's shoulder. "Sleep now."

"Right," said Arthur, swallowing hard. "Go back to sleep. I love you."

There was a long silence.

"Bloody hell, Arthur," Merlin said, loud and clear. "You expect me to fall sleep after that?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arthur awoke the next morning to the sound of the shower going full blast. There were also sounds of humming, and bits of old power ballads that must have been popular in the 1980s, during Merlin's infancy, or perhaps before he was born.

He stood up reluctantly, fetched the newspaper from just outside the front door, threw it onto the bed, and then headed for the kitchen to set the coffee maker. Finding the bathroom empty--though full of steam--on his way back to the bedroom, he ducked inside, brushed his teeth, and splashed water on his face.

The sounds of crackling newsprint caught his ear as he carried two cups of coffee into the bedroom. Then he smiled; there was not, he thought to himself, a more endearing sight than that of Merlin sitting up in bed, reading the newspaper wearing nothing but his horn-rimmed glasses. Arthur put down the cups and forced himself to look nonchalant.

"Most people would be shocked if they could see you now, _Mer_ lin," he chuckled, stealing the arts section of the newspaper and scanning it for announcements of the upcoming show at the Metropolitan.

"Why?" Merlin asked, eyes still glued to the printed pages.

"I'm sure that they--well, most people--think you're quite the innocent."

"They do?" Merlin mumbled absently, raising his eyes from the newspaper.

"It's because you look so virginal."

Merlin seemed mildly perplexed. "What...virginal? That's--I mean, I'm not exactly virginal."

"Let's just make certain, shall we?" Arthur said, sliding into the bed beside him.

* * *


	32. Black Tie and Tails

As was the case with most museums in New York, the Metropolitan Museum was closed to the public on Mondays.* All departments and offices were fully staffed, however, and when Morgana, followed by Gaius and Merlin, climbed the impressive front steps on Monday morning, the security guards in the lobby sent them straight to the Medieval Department's storage rooms.

In storage, they were met by an associate curator named Aglain, a tall, handsome, dark-skinned man Merlin vaguely remembered meeting at the Santa Barbara opening. Thanking whatever gods might be listening that neither Morgause nor Valiant seemed to be around, they waited while Aglain unlocked the storage cabinet and drew out the Pendragon Institute's manuscript. It was wrapped in acid-free tissue, and Aglain stepped back politely to allow the Institute's curator and conservators to examine it in privacy.

The damaged page, its illustration depicting the legendary figures Lancelot and Guinevere looking out of a tower window, had been ripped from its upper edge to one inch from the bottom. Flecks of gilding and colored paint had come loose and were dangling from the edges of the tear. Merlin and Gaius winced.

"I'm sorry to say that I saw the crate being opened," Aglain muttered. "The tape across the lid was intact. The lid couldn't have been unscrewed and taken off. This would indicate that the damage was not inflicted at our museum." His tone of voice was so regretful that it seemed clear he had neither love for Valiant nor respect for Valiant's accusation.

"Could you ask a representative to come downstairs from the Director's office?" Merlin asked quietly.

"Merlin--what the devil are you doing?" Gaius hissed in his ear, but Merlin remained calm.

"I need at least one other witness from the Met," was his response.

When one of the Director's assistants, an elegant woman with blond curls (and, as it turned out, a law degree), appeared, Merlin asked to see the crate the Legends manuscript had traveled in.

"It's with the other loan crates, next door, Forridel," Aglain told the Director's assistant. The group duly trooped into the next room, where numerous labeled boxes and crates rested against the far wall. The Institute's crate was located and placed on a worktable, as Merlin drew a pair of thin latex surgical gloves from his pocket and put them on.

"I'm not going to touch the crate just yet," he said, pulling a digital camera out of his coat pocket. "Look at this, I made it the day we sent the manuscript over to you."

The photos he showed to them were close ups of the bottom of the crate, where Merlin had pasted thin strips of brownish paper over the edges of all four sides. Then there was a short clip of video, showing the packers placing the crate in their truck. The camera zoomed in to focus on the strips of paper, barely visible but clearly there if you knew where to look, and clearly intact.

Adjusting his surgical gloves, Merlin lifted the Institute's crate and turned it _upside down_. Then he pointed. All of the tiny paper strips had been ripped in half, and there were marks all around the screws that held the bottom of the crate onto the four sides.

"Someone opened this crate from the bottom, and not while it was still at the Institute," Merlin said, his voice steady. "Gaius saw me pasting these slips onto the crate after it had been packed, and before it was removed from our museum. If you were to get someone from the police here, and have him dust this for fingerprints, I think you might discover who removed the manuscript and damaged it."

"No police!" Forridel said instantly.

"But _why_?" Aglain asked in astonishment. "Why damage such a beautiful thing--a valuable object on loan to us?"

Merlin shrugged. "I have no idea," he replied, and now he looked genuinely puzzled. "You might want to talk to all staff members who had access to the storage area after the piece arrived."

He glanced at Gaius and Morgana, and they could tell exactly what he was thinking.

"In the meantime," Morgana said sharply to Aglain, "the Institute is willing to let the Metropolitan display the Legends manuscript in the exhibition, with undamaged pages open. But under no circumstances is anyone from your Conservation department to work on it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Merlin stood despondantly in front of Arthur's mirror, staring at himself. This was the first time he had ever worn a tuxedo, and he was not particularly happy with what he saw.

It was Thursday, early evening, and he was dressed to go to the Metropolitan Museum's black tie reception and dinner for the "Age of Magna Carta" exhibition. When Arthur entered the room, resplendant in his own tux, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing at Merlin's woebegone expression.

At the same time, he had to face the fact that his conservator looked wonderful in the stark black and white of the formal garb, with those limpid blue eyes, the hollow cheeks above the full, pink lips, and that spiky black hair combed into submission, the fringe trimmed quite short. He was shifting from foot to foot, as skittish and beautiful as a thoroughbred colt. ( _No, Arthur,_ he scolded his libido, _you must keep your hands off him until after the dinner._ )

"No need to look so gloomy, _Mer_ lin," he said, hiding his amusement with difficulty. "Granted these aren't the most comfortable garments in the world. _I_ think _I_ look like a head waiter in the Palm Court at The Ritz."

This statement was delivered with mock solemnity in the hope of cheering his young colleague up. His ploy was successful, as Merlin cackled with laughter for nearly two minutes before regaining his composure and looking his Assistant Director over.

"Any sculptor of classical Greece or Renaissance Italy would have been thrilled to immortalize you in marble," Merlin said honestly, giving Arthur a look of genuine admiration. "But they would have preferred you without the tux, splendid as it is."

"I'm not going to a museum opening naked," Arthur said, pretending to be shocked. "No matter what the ancient Greeks or Renaissance Italians _think_."

"That's a fine thing for a museum director to say," Merlin replied. He glared ferociously at the first pair of cufflinks he had ever owned as he struggled to fasten them by himself. "And they can't _think_ because they're all dead."

"You're mutilating your cuffs, _Mer_ lin," Arthur sighed, again trying hard not to laugh. "Here, let me."

He drew close, fastened Merlin's cufflinks himself, and then took a few steps back to look at the final result.

"I look like an emaciated penguin," moaned Merlin, staring into the mirror once again.

"You look fine; professional but very _appealing_ ," Arthur said decidedly. "It's not my fault that you're calorie-deprived. Stop whinging. Plus, if you don't go to this thing, I will make your life a living hell. We're meeting the rest of the motley crew at seven, so we can arrive at the museum together. I want one of us on either side of you in case you trip over your own feet. You've never been to one of these black tie openings at the Met. There will be press photographers all over the bloody front steps."

"What makes you so sure," grumbled Merlin, "that I look appealing?"

"I could prove it to you," Arthur said, mildly exasperated. "But your brand new tuxedo would get torn to shreds in the process."

"Yeah, thanks," Merlin muttered, eyeing his cufflinks with resignation. "I love you too, you prat."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As the small band of staff members from the Pendragon Institute mounted the various tiers of white steps leading up to the Metropolitan Museum's main entrance, shortly after seven o'clock, an assortment of representatives from other museums lending objects to "The Age of Magna Carta" were marching up the stairs alongside them. As Arther had predicted, a gaggle of press photographers had been waiting on the stairs, and the invitees ascended to the bright lights of camera flashes going off on all sides. Merlin looked duly horrified, but Arther had placed him safely between himself and Morgana, with the other Institute employees helping to form a protective barrier between the young conservator and the snapping cameras.

"It would be ten times worse if we were actors or rock stars," Arthur snorted as they made their escape into the building. "God! Morgana! Whom did you borrow that dress from-Lady Gaga?"

"Shut up, Arthur," Morgana muttered. She had removed her evening cloak, and was seen to be wearing an emerald green satin sheath and matching shoes with four-inch heels. To Arthur's dismay, several members of the press--and their photographers--were lined up in the main entrance hall, and the group had to submit to another round of picture-taking.

To everybody's relief, the exhibition galleries where "The Age of Magna Carta" was displayed, and the rooms for the reception and the dinner, were closed to photographers, if not the press. Museum staff mingled with patrons, funding donors, and visiting museum reps. Merlin, being the newcomer within the group from the Pendragon Institute, was subjected to any number of stares, the meanings of which ranged from professional envy to curiosity to lust. Arthur simply clenched his teeth and bore with it.

At the reception, Morgause and Valiant paraded though the crowd of museum staff and visiting museum reps, and on two occasions Arthur had to poke Merlin in the ribs to stop him from laughing at the sight of Valiant in a tux.

"I can't help it," Merlin whispered in agonized tones. "I keep looking at his f-f-fingers."

"I wish I had never said anything about them," Arthur snapped.

Not long after, Arthur felt a light touch on his sleeve, jolting him out of his private reverie. Abandoning the fantasy of what he was going to do to Merlin when they got home (he had only gotten as far as divesting his junior conservator of that elegant new tuxedo, piece by piece), he turned to find Aglain and Forridel at his side.

"Arthur! I haven't seen you since last year's conferences," Aglain said in a hushed but companionable voice. "I was pleased to meet your new conservator on Monday. He's impressive. You remember Forridel from the Director's office, I expect? She was impressed with him as well. Now, if we could have a quiet word--we can go to the storage rooms, I think. Would you bring Morgana, Gaius, and Mr Emrys with you?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"If our suspicions are correct, Mr Emrys," Forridel said once they were in the Medieval Department's largest storage room, where the Institute's packing crate still stood on a worktable, "then your suspicions are correct. The packers carried this crate in here, and it wasn't opened until the following day, when the lid was unsealed in the presence of our curator, your curator, and Mr Valiant. However, during the period in between, the only person known to have come into this storage area was that same Valiant. Our legal office has been in touch with people in Europe. We got word from them not twenty minutes ago. They have been able to trace him, although there he was apparently known by another name. It's true he has training in the field of conservation, but he was also linked to a group of art forgers based in the Netherlands."

"Forgers," said Gaius, angrily. "Now it begins to make sense."

"The members of this small group were all well-placed in museums and major galleries," Forridel went on. "Their practice was to damage a work of art in such a way that they were able to obtain samples of what it was made of--paints, clay, what have you. Of course, they made the damage appear to be _somebody else's_ fault. After analyzing these materials, they were able to create forgeries by duplicating the pigments or other materials used, to an almost exact degree. Their finished products could fool any expert, and pass almost any test except for TL, for ceramics, or spectroscopic and microscopic analysis for paintings."

"Except for ceramics thermo-luminescence testing, and spectroscopic dating for paintings, " Merlin mused. "And how many buyers bother to have their new purchases scientifically tested?"

"As we've only just now received this information from Europe," sighed Forridel, "we couldn't confront Valiant with anything before the reception. Someone from our law office is probably talking with him right now. If he refuses to give us a statement, or can't defend himself, we _will_ call the authorities. Eventually, we can have this crate dusted for prints, or whatever, as Mr Emrys suggested the other day."

"Morgause...she couldn't have known," murmured Morgana, clutching at Arthur's arm.

"No, it's clear that she wasn't aware of Valiant's background," Forridel replied. "Although we can't say that she exercised the best judgement in hiring him to begin with. His credentials are extremely slim."

"Our people will ask Valiant to leave the reception quietly," Aglain said. "We don't want the press to jump all over this, not just yet. Why don't we rejoin the party--they may have escorted him out by now."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The reception was still in full swing when they re-entered the exhibition galleries, and the people who had been invited to the dinner as well were beginning to make their way towards the hall in which tables had been set up. It was evident that the Met museum staff had not been able to remove Valiant, for he was standing near the entrance to the dining hall, talking angrily and animatedly to the two men--no doubt from the Director's office--who stood on either side of him.

At the sight of the group fromt he Pendragon Institute, Valiant broke away from the Metropolitan staff and took several rapid strides in their direction. In seconds, he was standing in front of them, eyes blazing and mouth working with fury. Even Morgana, generally fearless in the face of any kind of threat, took a step backward.

Valiant's face was slowly turning brick red; it was obvious that he was on the brink of losing control.

"Who accuses me?" he hissed, his tongue flicking snakelike between his lips. "Which one of you?"

* * *

 

* This is no longer the case; the Metropolitan Museum is now open on Mondays.


	33. Grand Finale?

"Well?" Valiant snarled again, "who's accusing me?" It was clear as day that his temper was on the verge of exploding. Recovering from her moment of nervous surprise, Morgana tightened her lips and surged forward, but Arthur put out his arm and pushed her back. At the same time, Metropolitan Museum staffers backed away from Valiant, as if disavowing any connection with the man. The elegantly clad reception guests stared at him in astonishment.

The little group representing the Pendragon Institute seemed isolated in the center of the hall, although Arthur could see Aglain, Forridel, and one or two others hurrying off, presumably to find a guard from their own Security department. Valiant no longer looked amusing in his tuxedo. The fists that Merlin had compared to hams were raised to chest level, tightly clenched, and his tongue kept flicking out from between his bared teeth.

"What you appear to have done speaks for itself," said Arthur calmly. Valiant didn't frighten him; to Arthur he appeared almost comic with his reddened face and his neck muscles swelling with anger above the tight-fitting collar of his tuxedo shirt. In fact, Arthur almost wished that the man would take a swing at him; he felt more than confident that he could handle anything Valiant could throw at him, and he didn't think he would mind taking him down a peg or two. Of course he wouldn't really do something like that _here_ , in the middle of the Met-

And then, to his utter surprise, Merlin stepped in front of him.

"You're innocent until proven guilty, naturally," he said in a low but carrying voice. His eyes were flashing blue fire. "But for anyone to have damaged a work of art for profit-and then to place blame for the damage on _other people_ \--and for a _conservator_ , of all people--how could anyone with a conscience live with himse-"

The sentence went unfinished as Valiant, his eyes narrowing with rage, let fly with his right fist, striking Merlin on the jaw. For a split second nobody moved as Merlin's body flew backwards and landed on the cold stone floor, the back of his head hitting the marble with an ominous _crack_.

It was so completely unexpected that everybody, including Arthur, simply stood still with gaping mouths as Valiant danced backwards like a prizefighter and Merlin's lean frame settled into stillness on the floor. Then the temporary paralysis of shock came to an end; Morgana screamed and Gwen and Will flung themselves onto the floor by Merlin's head, only to be joined by Arthur, who sank to his knees next to his unconscious conservator and put his hands gently on his shoulders.

"Merlin," he said, his voice tight with a fear such as he had never before experienced. "Merlin, _Merlin!_ "

"Don't move him, Arthur," Gwen said under her breath. "We don't know where he's hurt. He's breathing, and Leon's calling an ambulance."

Leon, standing just above them, was indeed on his mobile phone, and through the blur of his own fear and growing fury Arthur could see several other guests pulling their phones out of purses, or rushing off to get help. Forridel was re-entering the hall with two security guards, both of whom were nervously eyeing Valiant. Valiant's expression was maniacally gleeful and his glance was sweeping the room for possible allies, but even Morgause had backed away from him. Arthur could read her face quite clearly; she was a master of the political maneuver, and incredibly ambitious, so it would do her no good whatsoever to position herself on the side of a man who was clearly out of control, as well as a possible criminal. Whatever feelings she may have had for him would be quietly shoved under the carpet and presumably disposed of.

"He's not bleeding," Arthur heard Will say to Leon. "But he's out cold. I can't bring him round."

"The ambulance is on its way," Leon murmured.

Stupid, _stupid_ Merlin!

Arthur had gotten to his feet. There was nothing he could do for Merlin but wait for an emergency medical team to show up. His eyes were fixed on Valiant, who was still moving, like a fighter, in the space left for him by reception attendees. Lance, his face tense and hands raised, stepped towards him, but without even thinking, Arthur pushed him back.

Valiant's eyes went to Arthur and he grinned, still livid with anger.

"You think you can take me on, pretty man?" he hissed mockingly. Several bystanders put their hands to their mouths in horrified surprise, and Arthur could only be grateful that the room was empty of press photographers.

"No problem," he replied with an icy calm, and moved forward.

"Arthur! You're not going to _fight_ him," squeaked Morgana, but Arthur heard this only dimly as he focused all of his attention on the man in front of him.

Valiant made the first move, launching the right hook that had caught Merlin, but Arthur had been expecting it, and he was lighter on his feet than his opponent. He leaned slightly to avoid the blow, and then moved in, mentally grinning with satisfaction as he felt his own fist connect with Valiant's ribs. Valiant grunted but appeared undamaged as he danced away and then charged back again. His left fist lashed out, scraping Arthur's face. He felt his lower lip go numb, then begin to swell, but what of it? Valiant was a great brute, he was strong, and quicker than he looked, but to Arthur's mind he lacked a certain finesse. Even as he thought this, he could feel his own training, long unused, coming back to him, the memories of school boxing matches and the voice of his trainer ( _"Watch your footwork, Pendragon!"_ ).

"This is absurd, it's like something from a made-for-television melodrama," his rational mind said, even as his deeper, more primitive instincts cautioned him against overconfidence. Valiant was burlier than he, his shoulders more powerful; he was also perhaps a little older, with what resembled a street fighter's edge. He knew that he was caught, and he would not go down without taking someone with him.

For a moment they circled each other, before closing again. Arthur felt blows to his midriff, and another grazed his ear, whilst his own fists made contact with Valiant's jaw--glancingly--and then the side of his face. Valiant drew back for a moment, shaking his head to clear it; then one hand slid inside his tuxedo jacket and came out holding something shiny...and sharp.

"The man's mad," thought Arthur vaguely, "he can't possibly imagine he could get away with this." A boxcutter. It was a boxcutter, probably filched from the Conservation studios, and now this had gone way beyond a mere fistfight. But he was not going to lower his hands and back away, or shout for help. Merlin. Valiant had struck Merlin and Merlin was injured--who knew how badly. Arthur would make him pay.

Before he could think anything else, Valiant had lunged forward, the hand holding the boxcutter sweeping in a half-circle in front of him, a good two inches of blade protruding from the sturdy plastic handle. Arthur leaped backward, curving his spine so that the blade missed his skin, cutting a thin line through the black fabric of his jacket. He heard screams from several people, including Morgana, and then he feinted to one side, sprang forward, and caught Valiant's wrist in his left hand, forcing his arm up and the boxcutter away from him. As Valiant stepped back, Arthur's right fist careened solidly into his jaw--he could feel the shock of impact all the way to his shoulder--and Valiant went crashing backwards into a group of gawping guests and museum staff. They broke his fall--somewhat to Arthur's disappointment--but he was out like a light before his body even made contact with theirs.

There was a sudden uproar as everybody began to talk at once (there was also a loud and triumphant "Yes!" from Lance and Will), but Arthur turned back to Merlin, breathing hard and immensely relieved to see two emergency medical workers with a portable gurney. One of the men was kneeling beside Merlin, shining something into his eyes, then checking his pulse. As Arthur approached, they slid his limp body onto a board, and from there onto the gurney, into which he was then strapped.

"What about him," one of them gestured in the direction of Valiant, cradled in the reluctant arms of the Met's security guards. Valiant seemed to be coming to, his eyes were half open and his serpentine tongue was licking his lower lip. Arthur secretly regretted not having hit him harder.

"Oh, he'll be alright, for God's sake," Arthur snarled scornfully, jerking his head in the direction of his opponent. "He's not coming with us. Period. Just get Merlin to hospital _now_."

He walked beside the gurney as it was wheeled through the museum and out a side door, with Morgana walking on the other side, Will, Gaius, Gwen, Lance, Leon, and even old Geoffrey trailing behind them. Morgana was sniffling, but Arthur caught Will's glance and was surprised to see admiration and approval there. Once outside, Merlin's gurney was carefully loaded into the back of the waiting ambulance.

"One person can come with him," one of the two paramedics said. "Whoever can supply some personal information, any helpful medical information, doctor's contact info, insurance, whatever. Is he allergic to anything?"

"Everything," Arthur said automatically. Morgana was about to step up into the ambulance, but Arthur pushed her aside for the second time that night, and climbed in. The doors slammed behind him, and the vehicle moved off at a good clip, siren blaring.

"He hit his head, eh?" one of the paramedics said. "They'll need a CT scan."

"Can you give me some information, sir," the other asked Arthur, waving a clipboard in his face. "Name?"

"Merlin Emrys," said Arthur. He saw the man's clueless expression, and spelled it for him.

"Arthur," came a whisper from the gurney, and Arthur turned and knelt, completely ignoring the paramedic's subsequent questions. Merlin's blue eyes were open, and they took in his surroundings, the paramedics, and Arthur with calm curiosity. Arthur felt his stomach tie itself into knots.

" _Mer_ lin, you... _you idiot_!"

"Head hurts," Merlin replied in a faint, breathy tone of voice that managed to sound philosophical at the same time.

"Head trauma," one paramedic was saying into some sort of recording device.

"You had no business being so...you'd no _...you..."_ Arthur was not only beside himself, he seemed to have lost most of his English vocabulary.

"S'okay," Merlin whispered. "It'll be alright." Arthur had never seen him so pale, even those pink lips had gone white, but he was actually grinning with amusement. Consequently, Arthur didn't know whether to fly into a rage or weep with relief.

"Sir, excuse me, sir," the paramedic complained, stooping to check Merlin's pulse and peer into his eyes with a pencil-sized flashlight. "Mustn't agitate the patient, sir, please."

"Mouth's bleeding," Merlin breathed, gesturing at Arthur's face.

"Valiant," Arthur said curtly.

"He hurt you?"

"I hurt him worse."

"Well," Merlin said after a moment, "aren't you the knight in shining armor."

"Shut _up_ ," was all that Arthur could think to say in reply, but he smiled for the first time since he had clambered into the ambulance.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After what seemed to be an interminable stay in the ER, Arthur got Merlin signed into a private room. He had been wheeled away for a CT scan, brought back again, given several different tests by the ER doctor, and finally sent up to the room, whose window actually had a view overlooking Central Park.

Merlin drifted in and out of sleep as Arthur sat by his bedside. Doctors had come in, given the diagnosis of mild concussion (they also referred to it as mild head trauma) with no sign of fractures or internal bleeding, handed Arthur a multitude of forms to fill out, and left. A nurse came in and left a dose of analgesics on the tray stand.

"At least I didn't wake up in a padded cell," Merlin quipped at about two in the morning.

"I'd like to strangle you," Arthur said, gripping Merlin's hand tightly. "What business had you to go and play the bloody hero?"

"I didn't play the hero, you did," Merlin retorted, his voice still faint but his glance amused. "I didn't knock Valiant out, that was you."

"Hmmmph!" was Arthur's reply.

"I suppose this will be in all the newspapers tomorrow," Merlin said resignedly. "In the tabloids especially."

"I don't care," Arthur mumbled, yawning.

"You know what people are going to say."

"I don't care," Arthur said again, severely. "Now, stop talking and get some rest."

The next morning a young intern made an appearance, yawning even more loudly than Arthur. He informed them that Merlin would be kept for observation for another twenty-four hours. Then, if there was no change in his condition, or of course if there was an improvement, he would be sent home. Arthur took a nap on the couch in the waiting area, and during the course of the day visitors from the Institute trooped in and out of Merlin's room. Morgana brought flowers and burst into tears. Leon brought chocolates. Will and Lance showed up at the same time, but as Merlin was asleep, they stood about for nearly an hour, arguing over the best methods for restoring chain mail and telling stupid sheep-shagging jokes, until Merlin finally awoke and asked them why they were roaring so loudly. Gaius stayed the longest, and when a bleary-eyed Arthur joined them, he and Merlin were talking about the damaged manuscript, which Gaius was certain Merlin could restore.

Valiant was in jail, awaiting arraignment. As he was wanted on several charges in Europe as well as the States, it was likely that he would remain behind bars--wherever--for some time. Gaius didn't think Merlin would have to testify against him in court, if he gave a statement to the district attorney's office. There were no charges being made against Arthur for striking Valiant, who, after all, had struck him first.

"I've been in touch with your mother in Ealdor," Gaius added, tugging at his silver hair. "She was going to come over on the first available flight, but I said it wasn't necessary. I told her, 'Hunith, he's being well looked after, don't worry. He's in a good hospital and our Assistant Director's keeping a close eye on him.'"

"To say the least," said Merlin, and Arthur blushed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Merlin had been quite right about the newspapers. True to form, the focus was on Merlin's injury, the fight between Arthur and Valiant, Valiant's treacherous knife attack, and Arthur's race to the hospital with Merlin, rather than Valiant's alleged criminal activities. More space was devoted to Merlin's youth and appearance than to the damage sustained by the Institute's medieval manuscript. In most of the papers the story was placed several pages into the news section, but one of the tabloids featured a front page photograph, beneath the headline emblazoned in huge type: **[PEN]DRAGON TAMER?**

The photograph had obviously been shot inside the entrance hall of the Metropolitan Museum, moments after the Institute staff had arrived for the reception. There they were in their evening clothes; the photographer had managed to angle the camera so as to get a good shot of Morgana's cleavage, and Arthur stood in the center of the group, undeniably stunning in his tux. Next to him, slim and almost frail-looking, his head slightly bent, cheekbones catching the light and eyes turned towards the Assistant Director, was the Institute's newest conservator.

A subheading in smaller type read: "New Love Interest for Museum Director?"

"I'm not the bloody Director, can't they get that right?" Arthur grumbled.

"This is going to kill Uther," Merlin said judiciously. "And not because they got your title wrong."

"I don't care," Arthur said for the third time in forty-eight hours.

Merlin had been admitted to hospital on a Thursday night, and on Saturday afternoon he was released with instructions to return if, at any time in the next week, his headache returned or he experienced other unpleasant symptoms like nausea or dizziness. After claiming that, apart from a very sore lump on the back of his head, he felt quite well, he and a very drowsy Arthur took a cab to Arthur's flat, where they slept for a solid ten hours.

"Arthur, this is going to put a dent in your social life," Merlin sighed when they awoke. "Weren't you supposed to have a drink with some old university friends tomorrow evening?"

"Bah," Arthur responded, yawning for what seemed like the hundredth time. "I told them we'd do it some other time. Told them you were here, resting, and that I was looking after you."

That piece of information silenced Merlin for the next half hour. Their relationship, it appeared, was no longer to be kept a secret as far as Arthur was concerned.

On Sunday, Merlin proclaimed himself perfectly healthy, showered, shaved, ate a mountain of vegetable stew, and flew into bed after the evening news.

"No sex," said Arthur firmly, praying that his resolve would hold. "Until you're feeling better."

"I'm fine," Merlin protested, but Arthur shook his head.

"Not until you're one hundred percent."

"You're one hundred percent barmy," Merlin replied, but Arthur was adamant.

"Okay, kissing only," he said about five minutes later, and Merlin smirked.

For perhaps five more delicious minutes he ran his lips over Merlin's face and throat, collarbones and shoulders, returning periodically to that soft and full-lipped mouth, until they were both gasping. Merlin wound his arms around Arthur's neck and Arthur slid his around Merlin's waist.

"This is completely unfair, and it's torture, and it's probably bad for my health, Pendragon," Merlin panted, tugging Arthur closer. "If you don't finish me, I'll probably go into cardiac arrest, and the hospital will say it's all your fault."

"The doctors said you should avoid strenuous exercise," replied Arthur, clinging to self-control by a thread.

"They never said I couldn't do _this_ ," came the reply, and Arthur caught his breath.

"You see," came Merlin's whisper a while later, from somewhere lower down on the bed, "I'm still in one piece."

"Oh bloody hell," muttered Arthur, throwing self-control to the wind and pulling Merlin up until they were face to face. "If you have to go back to hospital after this, I'm telling everybody there this was your idea."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On Monday morning at nine o'clock, the Assistant Director and Merlin Emrys, Conservator, climbed the steps to the Institute's front entrance together, and walked into the museum side by side.

As they had more or less expected, nobody said anything, but almost the entire staff smiled broadly for the rest of the day. The only person who seemed out of sorts was Katrina, who muttered to herself about rich brats and their fancy boys, until Morgana overheard her and told her pointedly to shut up.

About halfway through the afternoon, Arthur discovered an email from Mordred on his office computer.

_Dear Arthur, We saw the newspapers and there was a story about you on the news. Father was not best pleased but I don't care I think you did the right thing. It's nicer having Merlin as part of the family than some silly girl who only wants to talk about frocks and parties and why can't she have knickers like Beyonce. I told Father that you were right and he was wrong, and he shouted for an hour but I think he will give in. I know Morgana thinks the same as me. She telephoned Father and shouted at HIM. It's really late now and I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I wanted to tell you these things. Could you please send me more choc bars as Father takes them away whenever he finds them. Mordred._

Less than a hour later, an email from Uther appeared on his screen. Arthur took a deep breath and opened it.

_Dear Arthur, I was distressed to hear about the trouble with our Legends manuscript. My understanding is that it can be restored by Gaius and young Merlin Emrys. It was also distressing to hear about the fracas at the Metropolitan, and how you were nearly injured by that criminal Valiant. I have already given a statement to the press over here, and Morgana has been keeping me informed. I must say that I read with great regret your earlier decision to remain in New York, but, reluctantly, must respect your wishes. Perhaps you would care to visit London in the spring or summer, for a few days? If you wish to bring Mr Emrys with you, he will be welcome. Your devoted father._

Arthur rang Morgana in her office.

"Thanks," he said abruptly, "I owe you and Leon a dinner out at the very least, restaurant of your choice."

"What about a weekend at some ski resort?" Morgana replied. "Then you and, um, Merlin can come as well."

"Heaven help us, Merlin on skis," Arthur muttered, images of spectacular ski slope accidents (all inadvertently engineered by Merlin) running through his brain as he grasped the phone with one hand and googled ski resort weekend packages with the other.

Moments later, he rang Merlin in in Paper Conservation.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"My head's fine," Merlin said. "But the rest of me! I'm sore all over, inside and out."

"Your own fault," Arthur snapped. "Look, are you still planning to go to Ealdor in the spring? What do you think of combining that with a week in London? If we don't appease your parent and mine before too long, we'll never hear the end of it."

* * *

_"Epilogue" to follow shortly._


	34. Epilogue: Happy Ever After

Morgana tiptoed down the stairs to the Conservation studios. This was difficult for her to do, as she was wearing a pair of stiletto heels, making tiptoeing almost impossible. Gwen had just let slip that she had seen the Assistant Director heading downstairs to talk to the junior conservator about the Legends manuscript, and for nearly two months Morgana had been dying to find out whether Arthur ever yielded to weakness and displayed affection towards Merlin whilst at work.

There was no doubt in anybody's mind that the two must be displaying their affection--privately--on a very regular basis. Merlin had packed up the contents of his small downtown flat and moved into Arthur's only a few weeks earlier. Since that memorable morning, the Monday after the Valiant incident, when the two had come to work _together_ for the first time, the relationship between Assistant Director Arthur Pendragon and Conservator Merlin Emrys was regarded as having gone "officially" public. The press had had a field day for a week or so--Arthur had groaned to see that there were even articles on the subject in _Time_ magazine and _The New Yorker_ , with another in _The Guardian_ , and nobody even dared to go near him with a copy of _People_. _Vanity Fair_ asked to do a cover story on the Pendragon Institute, although it was obvious that what they really wanted was a story about the handsome Assistant Director and his photogenic young conservator. Within ten days, fortunately, news of their connection (they had been promptly tagged "Merthur" by the media) was eclipsed by yet another messy breakup of two drug-enhanced stars of a reality television show, and after that, photographs of Arthur and Merlin cropped up only occasionally in the society columns of glossy journals.

It was impossible to deny that some of these photos were epic. (Morgana was secretly cutting them out and pasting them into a scrapbook she meant to present Arthur and Merlin with on their first "anniversary.") Arthur and Merlin on the front steps of the Institute. Arthur playing football (" _We_ call it soccer," sniffed the American photographer) with some old university mates in Central Park, with Merlin watching from the sidelines. Arthur speaking to the press. Merlin, cheekbones and boyish grin shown to best advantage, working on the Legends manuscript in the Paper Conservation studio.

In a tremendous gesture of goodwill towards the Metropolitan Museum, the Pendragon Institute had allowed the Legends manuscript to remain on display for three weeks, before taking it back. (Issues of blame and insurance--the Met could hardly deny that their conservator had damaged the piece--were being dealt with by the two museums' respective legal teams.) Merlin had been working on the manuscript for some time, and was now ready to show it to the rest of the staff, hence Arthur's descent to the Paper Conservation studio.

Morgana peeked through the partially open door of Paper Conservation, hoping the sharp tap of her heels had gone unnoticed. At the far side of the room was a long worktable, and Arthur and Merlin, standing a good two feet apart, were leaning over the Legends manuscript. Merlin pointed to the open page with a slender forefinger, said something under his breath, and Arthur laughed.

Oh, this was frustrating, Morgana thought, nearly stamping her foot before remembering that she was meant to be silent. Although she felt a bit voyeuristic, peering at them like this, she was livid with curiosity. At the Institute, the two treated each other with a cool but friendly professionalism, except when having one of their loud, work-related arguments. A stranger who knew nothing of their history would never guess that they were anything other than museum colleagues.

Their professionalism was terribly irksome to Morgana. Even during their shared three-day weekend at a ski resort in Vermont, a week ago, she had never once caught the two in an embrace, or doing anything that smacked remotely of lust. She and Leon had held hands freely, even kissed in public once or twice, but Arthur and Merlin had behaved very much like a couple of old school chums, jovially insulting one another (" _Mer_ lin, you idiot, don't forget your gloves this time!"), kicking snow in each other's direction, occasionally nudging each other and sniggering over some shared joke. It rather annoyed Morgana that their rooms had not been adjacent, so there was no opportunity to overhear any of the vigorous activity she assumed was taking place at night. On the other hand, neither Arthur nor Merlin had made any effort to deny the existance of a relationship, and had been quite open about the fact that they were sharing a room. When asked by an acquaintance, accidentally encountered on the slopes, whether he and Merlin were actually living together in the city, Arthur had said simply, "Yes," and then declined to elaborate further.

It had, in any event, been an entertaining break from the work routine. Whilst Arthur and Leon skiied the black diamond slopes, she and Merlin had sat below and watched them, bundled up in heavy jackets--Merlin with a knitted cap pulled down over those vulnerable ears--and fortified by numerous cups of (lactose-free) hot chocolate. Morgana was well versed enough in downhill skiing that she could navigate the green-labeled intermediate trails with ease, but by far the most memorable sight of the weekend had been Merlin, blue eyes wide with apprehension, attempting to tackle the beginner slope. As expected, he spent as much time on the ground in a tangle of skis and long limbs as he did upright. Arthur had collapsed with laughter, and Merlin had dumped an armful of snow on his head.

Back at work, things seemed to be going splendidly. Lance had finally put the question to Gwen, and they had announced their engagement during the very next staff meeting, to the sound of thunderous applause. As Gwen's father was deceased, Arthur had offered to give the bride away. ("Arthur! You're joking!" Gwen had exclaimed. "Why not? Since I'm a former, uh, significant other and current close friend," he had responded in a whisper.) As for Leon, his academic record had come in handy when he had applied for, and then been offered, a job teaching English literature at a nearby branch of the state university. He was in the process of considering it, and it had occurred to Morgana that this was one way of making certain Uther had no power over his career in the future.

"Morgana, what the _fuck!_ " said Will, coming suddenly around the corner and nearly falling headlong over his senior curator. She made hasty shushing noises, her finger to her lips, and Will rolled his eyes.

Morgana glared at him, but it was difficult to be angry with Will these days. He had promised to organize Lance's bachelor party ("If you _dare_ to hire a stripper, I'll never speak to you again," Gwen had snapped), and had taken over some of Merlin's duties to enable him to work full time on the damaged Legends manuscript.

"Morgana, are you outside the door?" Arthur called, and Morgana grimaced as Will sniggered. With a sigh, she turned on her heel and headed back up the stairs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Well, _Mer_ lin," Arthur murmured, staring down at the manuscript. "Gaius said that you've worked your magic again, and I have to agree with him."

He raised his eyes from the rich colors and gold of the restored page and ran them over his conservator, who was fiddling with a piece of gold leaf he had crumpled into a tiny ball. Merlin was thinner than he had been when he first came to the Institute and his hair recently had been cut a little shorter, the fringe trimmed high and spiky on his forehead, but his angular appeal was as intense as it had ever been, and the clear blue eyes were more serene; their gaze met the Assistant Director's with a mixture of confidence and relief.

"Thanks," Merlin replied, running his own eyes over the repair, which was virtually invisible to the naked eye. The tear had been mended, the edges perfectly fitted together, the pigments carefully consolidated. It was one of the most difficult jobs he had ever undertaken, but the result was more than satisfactory.

He met Arthur's stare again and smiled before lowering his eyes modestly. Now was _not_ the time to think about the previous night, when they had flung themselves into bed after an early meal, and practically devoured one another with passion. Just the act of _touching_ had felt so good, and then there had been all the rest of it. He had wondered whether Michelangelo felt like this when his hands caressed the marble of his David, but oh God living flesh and muscle felt so much more beautiful. When they finally fell apart, still trembling, still dizzy with pleasure, Arthur had put out a finger to touch the signet ring on Merlin's right hand, and Merlin had seen his lips curve upward in the light from the bedside lamp, fair hair damp with sweat and eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion and desire.

"How long will this last?" Arthur asked quietly, pointing to the repair.

"As long as it needs to," Merlin replied just as quietly, touching the edge of the page delicately with his fingers. "In this day and age, as you probably know, all conservation work done by reputable professionals in any museum is reversible."

"Reversible," said Arthur.

"Erm. Yes. It's a matter of ethics, really. In future, science will come up with better and less invasive methods of repair, so we, erm, use reversible materials that can be replaced--eventually--by the newly devised adhesives, or whatever. No conscientious conservator would do it differently. No one would ever try to _stick_ anything _together_ permanently because, erm, well, because you never know..."

Arthur knew perfectly well that Merlin was not simply talking about manuscripts or other works of art in need of restoration.

"There's no need for you to be concerned about ethics," he said, deliberately using his most arrogant tone of voice. "Because I've no desire to become un-stuck. Not ever, as far as I'm concerned. _You_ may think differently, of course, but that's where I stand."

"Uther," said Merlin flatly, "will have a fit. If he hasn't had one already."

"It'll do him a world of good," Arthur replied. "It's absurd, he's got to let go sometime. Let him worry about Mordred's love life for a change."

Merlin bit his lip, but now was not the time to weep, or even to laugh, with joy. There were certain things to be planned for the future, certainly, including the early summer overseas visit to Hunith in Ealdor and then Uther in London. The thought of seeing the Senior Director again, and having to face the look of repressed disapproval that would doubtless be on his face, was not particularly thrilling (and he just _knew_ that Uther would put himself and Arthur in separate bedrooms), but there would be the oddly interesting presence of Mordred to make up for it. Ever since the incident at the Met, he and Mordred had corresponded fairly regularly by email, and the boy had confided in him his fascination with the field of art conservation. If he didn't go into theoretical physics, he might actually consider following in Merlin's footsteps, although he didn't know how Uther would feel about _that_. Emails frequently concluded with pleas for more choc bars or other types of American candy, and Merlin found himself standing in long lines at the post office at least once a week with a parcel of sugary confections, wrapped in brown paper and labeled "printed material" to avoid Uther's detection, under his arm.

"Speaking of, uh, Father. If we have three free days after London we could do a car trip through Wales or something like that," mumbled Arthur, almost as though reading Merlin's mind. "I'll need something to clear my mind after a week with _him_. I do hope, _Mer_ lin, that one of these days you'll consider getting your driver's license."

Arthur was standing close behind Merlin as he spoke, but as they were at work, they could not touch. Merlin turned to face him, and their glances strained together, mimicking what their bodies wanted to do. Then Arthur, in a heroic gesture, put both of his hands behind his back, and Merlin gave a little laugh.

"Excuse the interruption," came Gwen's voice from the door. "But if you lot have finished looking at that manuscript, Gaius is suggesting that we all go out to Hengist's Grill for lunch. I know, I know, Merlin, it's a beefburger place, but I've been informed they now have lovely salads on the menu. We can always sneak something in from the vegetarian restaurant across the street. But could you hurry, please, because the rest of us are starving. Leon's nattering on about chips and Lance is practically frothing at the mouth with the thought of bacon cheeseburgers. Man cannot live on love alone."

THE END


End file.
